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CIHM/ICMH 

Microfiche 

Series. 


CIHM/ICMH 
Collection  de 
microfiches. 


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Canadian  Institute  for  Historical  Microreproductions  Institut  canadien  de  microreproductions  historiques 

1980 


Technical  Notes  /  Notes  techniques 


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D 


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n 


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ire 
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e  la 


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illustre  la  mdthode  : 


1 

2 

3 

1 

2 

3 

4 

5 

6 

,V' 


<*  r 


JEE  AND  SHEPARD'S 

i>  Star  Juveniles 

WITH  NEW  AND  ATTRACTIVE  DIES. 

Messrs.  Lkk  and  SiiKrAun  announce  a  now  edition  of  this  fine  line  of  12mo 
.Juvonilcs,  consistinR  of  books  bv  Kkm.oco,  Kingston,  IJallantynk, 
IIKADIJOY,  and  otliers.  I'rintcd  oii  a  line  (|uality  of  paper,  fully  illustrated, 
and  bound  in  polished  buckram  cloth,  at  $1.00  per  volume.  Liberal  discount 
for  quautities. 

By  ELIJAH  KELLOCKJ. 

Lion  Ben  of  Elm  Island. 

Charlie  Bell ;  The  Waif  of  Elm  Island. 

The  Ark  of  Elm  Island. 

The  Boy  Farmers  of  Elm  Island. 

The  Youni?  Shipbuilders  of  Kim  Island. 

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Wolf  Run ;  or,  The  Beys  of  the  Wilderness. 

Brought  to  the  Front :  or.  The  Young  Defenders. 

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Forest  Glen ;  or,  The  Mohawk's  Friendship. 

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A  Strong  Arm  and  a  Mother's  Blessing. 

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Af  oat  and  Ashore. 

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The  Child  of  the  Island  Glen. 

John  Godsoe's  Legacy. 

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A  Spark  of  Genius ;  or,  The  College  Life  of  James  Trafton. 

The  Sophomores  of  Radclifife ;  or,  James  Trafton  and  his  Bos- 
ton Friends. 

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The  Turning  of  the  Tide ;  or,  Radcliffe  Rich  and  his  Patients. 

Winning  his  Spurs ;  or,  Henry  Morton's  First  Trial. 

T3y  P.  C.  HEADLEY. 

jFi^ht  it  out  on  this  Line ;  The  Life  and  Deeds  of  Gen.  U.  S-  Grant. 
Pacing  the  Enemy ;  The  Life  of  Gen.  William  Tecumseh  Sher* 

man. 
Fighting  Phil;  The  Life  of  Lieu..  Gen.  Philip  Henry  Sheridan. 
Old  Salamander ;   The  Life  of  Admiral  David  Glascoe  Farragut. 
The  Miner  Boy  and  his  Monitor ;  The  Career  of  John  Ericsson, 

Engineer. 
Old  Stare ;  The  Life  of  Major-Gou.  Ormsby  McKnight  Mitchel 


f 


By  GEORGE  MAKEPEACE  TOWLB. 

Creroes  and  Martyrs  of  Invention. 

Vasco  da  Gama ;  Hifi  Voyages  and  Adventures. 

Pizarro;  His  Adventures  and  Conquests. 

Magrellan ;  or,  The  First  Voyage  Round  the  World* 

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Raleigh ;  His  Voyages  and  Adventures. 

Drake ;  The  Sea  King  of  Devon. 

By  CAPT.  CHARLES  W.  HALIi. 
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By  DR.  ISAAC  I.  HAYES. 

Cast  Away  in  the  Cold;  An  Old  Man's  Story  of  a  Young  M»ii'^ 
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The  Adventures  of  Dick  Onslow  among  the  Redskins* 
Ernest  Bracebridge;  or.  School  Boy  Days. 


By  JAMES  D.  McCABE  JR. 
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I 


By  DR.  C.  H.  PEARSON. 

The  Cabin  on  the  Prairie. 

The  Young  Pioneers  of  the  Northwest. 


By  JAMES  DE  MILLE. 
The  Lily  and  the  Cross ;  A  Tale  of  Acadia. 


n 


By  P.  Q.  ARMSTRONG. 

The  Young  Middy:   or,   The  Perilous  Avdenturea  of  a  Boy 
Officer. 

By  R.  M.  BALLANTYNB. 
The  Life  Boat ;  A  Tale  of  Our  Coast  Heroes. 


Sent  by  mail,  postpaid,  on  receipt  of  priC4» 


Lef  rnd  Shepard,  Publishers,  Boston 


»11« 


4-V 


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Boy 


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LILY  AND  THE  CROSS 


A  TALE  OF  ACADIA 


BY 


PROF.  JAMES    DE    MILLE 

AUTHOR  OF    "the   dodge   CLUB,"    "  CORD   AND   CREESE,"    "tHE  B.  O,  W.  C 
STORIES,"    "the  young  DODGE  CLUB,"  ETC. 


ILLUSTRATED 


BOSTON 
LEE    AND     vSHEPARD     PUBLISHERS 


11-  ^ii; 


Enterca,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  ]8?4, 

Bv  LEE  AND  SHEPARD, 

In  tuo  Office  Of  the  Llhrarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 
A  Voice  out  of  the  Deep o 

CHAPTER  II. 
A  Meeting  in  Mid  Ocean 20 

CHAPTER  III. 
New  Friends «, 

CHAPTER  IV. 

MiMI  AND  MarGOT J,, 

41 

CHAPTER  V. 
A  Strange  Revelation ko 

CHAPTER  VI. 

A  French  Frigate 

64 

CHAPTER  VII. 

Caught  in  a  Trap -, 

71 

CHAPTER  VIII. 
Under  Arrest.    .  « 

5 


ill 


5  CONTENTS, 

CIIAFIER   IX. 
Grand  Pue 91 

CIIArXER   X. 
Alone  in  the  World 103 

CHAPTER   XI. 
A  Friend  in  Need IK 

CHAPTER  XII. 

The  Parson  among  the  Philistines 125 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
A  Stroke  for  Liberty 135 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Manoeuvres  of  Zac 145 

CHAPTER   XV. 
Flight 154 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Reunion 163 

CHAPTER  XVII. 

Among  Friends 172 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
LOUISBOURO • 180 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
The  Captive  and  the  Captors 189 


CONTENTS, 


103 


IK 


125 


Examinations.     . 

CHAPTER  XX. 

A  Ray  of  Ligiit. 

CHAraER  XXI. 

Escape 

CHAPTER  XXn. 

Pursuit 

CHAPTER  XXni. 

Zac  and  Maroot.  . 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 

CHAPTER  XXV. 
The  Court  Martial 

News  from  Home. 

CHAPI'ER  XXVI. 
s 

198 


207 


217 


226 


236 


245 


265 


THE  LILY  Al^B  THE  CROSS. 


A  TALE    OF    ACADIA. 


5>l«0 


CHAPTER  I. 


A  VOICE   OUT   OF  THE  DEEP. 


ONCE  upon  a  time  there  was  a  schooner  belonging 
to  Boston  which  was  registered  under  tlie  some- 
what singular  name  of  the  '^  llev.  Amos  Adams."  This 
was  her  formal  title,  used  on  state  occasions,  and  was, 
no  doubt,  quite  as  appropriate  as  tlie  more  pretentious 
one  of  the  "  Duke  of  Marlborough,"  or  the  "  Lord 
Warden."  As  a  general  thing,  however,  people  des- 
ignated her  in  a  less  formal  manner,  using  the  simpler 
and  shorter  title  of  the  "  Parson."  Her  owner  and 
commander  was  a  tall,  lean,  sinewy  young  man,  whose 
Sunday-go-to-meeting  name  was  Zion  Awake  Cox,  but 
who  was  usually  referred  to  by  an  ingenious  combina- 
tion of  tlie  initials  of  these  three  names,  and  thus  be- 
came Zac,  and  occasionally  Zachariah.  This  was  the 
schooner  which,  on  a  fine  May  morning,  might  have 
been  seen  "  bounding  over  the  billows  "  on  her  way  to 
the  North  Pole. 
About  her  motion  on  the  present  occasion,  it  must 

9 


10 


THE  LIL  Y  AND   THE  CROSS. 


bo  confessed  tlierc  was  not  much  bounding,  nor  much 
billow.  Nor,  again,  would  it  have  been  easy  for  any 
one  to  see  her,  even  if  he  had  been  brought  close  to 
her;  for  the  simple  reason  that  the  "Parson,"  as  she 
went  on  her  way,  carrying  Zac  and  his  fortunes,  had 
become  involycd  in  a  fog  bank,  in  tlie  midst  of  wliich 
she  now  lay,  with  little  or  no  Avind  to  help  her  out  of  it. 

Zac  was  not  alone  on  board,  nor  had  the  present 
voyage  been  undertaken  on  his  own  account,  or  of  his 
own  motion.  Tliere  were  two  passengers,  one  of  whom 
had  engaged  the  schooner  for  his  own  purposes.  This 
one  was  a  young  fellow  who  called  himself  Claude 
Metier,  of  Randolph.  His  name,  as  well  as  his  face, 
had  a  foreign  character  ;  yet  he  spoke  English  with 
the  accent  of  an  Englishman,  and  had  been  brought  up 
in  Massachusetts,  near  Boston,  where  he  and  Zac  had 
seen  very  much  of  one  another,  on  sea  and  on  shore. 
The  other  passenger  was  a  Rcmian  Catholic  priest, 
"«^diose  look  and  accent  proclaimed  him  to  be  a  French- 
man. He  seemed  about  fifty  years  of  age,  and  his 
bronzed  flxced,  grizzled  hair,  and  deeply-wrinkled 
brow,  all  showed  the  man  of  action  rather  than  the  re- 
cluse. Between  these  two  passengers  there  was  the 
widest  possible  difference.  The  one  was  almost  a  boy, 
the  other  a  world-worn  old  man ;  the  one  full  of  life 
and  vivacity,  the  other  sombre  and  abstracted ;  yet 
between  the  two  tliere  was,  however,  a  mysterious  re- 
semblance, which  possibly  may  have  been  something 
more  than  that  air  of  France,  which  they  both  had. 

Whatever  it  may  have  been,  they  had  been  strangers 
to  one  another  until  the  past  few  days,  for  Claude 
Motier  had  not  seen  the  priest  until  after  he  had  char- 
tered the  schooner  for  a  voyage  to  Louisbourg.     The 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


11 


to 


^h- 


the 


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ro- 


he 


priest  had  then  come,  asking  for  a  passage  to  that 
port.  lie  gave  liis  iiaine  as  tlio  Abbe  Micliel,  and  ad- 
dressed Claude  in  sucli  l)ad  EngHsh  tliat  tlie  young 
man  answered  in  French  of  the  best  sort,  whereat  tlie 
good  priest  seemed  mucli  delighted,  and  tlio  two  after- 
wards conversed  with  each  otiier  altogether  in  that 
language. 

Jjosidos  these  tlireo,  tliere  were  tlie  ship's  company 
dispersed  about  tlie  vessel.  This  company  were  not 
very  extensive,  not  num1»ering  over  three,  in  addition 
to  Zac.  Tliose  three  all  diil'ered  in  age,  in  race,  and 
in  character.  The  aged  colored  man,  who  was  at  that 
moment  washing  out  some  tins  at  the  bows,  camo 
aboard  as  cook,  with  the  understanding  that  he  was  to 
be  man  of  all  work.  He  was  a  skive  of  Zac's,  but, 
like  many  domestic  slaves  in  those  days,  he  seemed  to 
regard  himself  as  part  of  his  master's  family,  —  in  fact, 
a  sort  of  respected  relative.  He  rejoiced  in  the  name 
of  Jericho,  which  was  often  shortened  to  Jerry,  though 
the  aged  African  considered  the  shorter  name  as  a 
species  of  familiarity  which  was  only  to  be  tolerated 
on  the  part  of  his  master.  The  second  of  the  ship's 
company  was  a  short,  athletic,  rosy-cheeked,  bright- 
eyed,  round-iaced  lad,  who  was  always  singing  and 
dancing  except  when  he  was  whistling.  His  name 
was  Terry,  and  his  country  Ireland.  In  addition  to 
Jerry  and  Terry,  there  was  a  third.  He  was  a  short, 
dull,  and  somewhat  doleful  looking  boy  of  al)out  twelve, 
who  had  a  crushed  expression,  and  seemed  to  take 
gloomy  views  of  life.  The  only  name  by  which  he  was 
known  to  himself  and  others  was  Biler ;  but  whether 
that  was  a  Christian  name,  or  a  surname,  or  a  nick- 
name, cannot  be  said.     Biler's  chief  trouble  in  life  was 


12 


THE   LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


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an  inordinate  and  insatiable  aj^petite.  Nothing  came 
amiss,  and  nothing  was  ever  refused.  Zac  had  pieked 
the  boy  ap  three  years  bef'ure,  and  since  that  time  he 
had  never  known  liim  to  be  satisfied.  At  the  present 
moment,  Terry  was  standing  at  tlie  tiUer,  Avhile  Biler 
was  at  the  masthead,  to  wiiicli  lie  liad  climbed  to  get 
rid  of  the  disappointments  of  the  workl  behjw,  in  a  more 
elevated  sphere,  and  from  his  lofty  perch  he  was  gazing 
with  a  hungry  eye  forth  into  space,  and  from  time  to 
time  pulling  bits  of  dried  codfish  from  his  pocket,  and 
thrusting  them  into  his  mouth. 

"  Hy  da ! "  suddenly  shouted  the  aged  Jericlio, 
looking  up.  "  You  da,  Biler  ?  You  jis  come  down 
heah  an'  help  me  fotcli  along  dese  yar  tings.  Ef  you 
ain't  got  notin'  to  do,  Ise  precious  soon  find  you  lots 
ob  tings.  Hurry  down,  da ;  make  haste  ;  relse  I'll 
pitch  some  hot  water  up  at  you.  I  can't  be  boddered 
wid  dese  yer  pots  an'  pans  any  longer,  cos  Ise  got  do 
dinna  to  meditate  'bout." 

With  these  words  Jericlio  stood  up,  regarding  Biler 
with  an  appearance  of  grave  dignity,  which  would 
have  overawed  even  a  less  solemn  lad  than  this.  Biler 
did  not  refuse  obedience,  but  thrusting  a  few  frag- 
ments of  dried  codfish  into  his  mouth,  heaved  a  sigh, 
gave  another  dejected  look  at  surrounding  space,  and 
tiien  slowly  and  mournfully  descended  to  the  lower 
world. 

The  priest  was  seated  on  a  water- cask,  reading  his 
Breviary,  while  Zac  stood  not  far  oiF,  looking  tliought- 
fuUy  over  the  vessel's  side.  Terry  was  at  the  tiller, 
not  because  there  was  any  steering  to  be  done,  but 
because  he  thought  it  would  be  as  well  for  every  one 
to  be  at  his  post  in  the  event  of  a  change  of  wind. 


'n. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


13 


iigh, 

and 

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his 
;-lit. 
Her, 
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lone 
ind. 


1 


■^t 


He  had  whistled  "  St.  Patrick's  Day  in  the  Morning," 
and  was  about  beginning  another  interminable  strain 
of  the  same  kind.  Claude  was  lounging  about,  and 
gradually  drew  nearer  to  the  meditative  Zac,  whom  he 
accosted. 

"  Well,  we  don't  appear  to  be  making  much  progress 
—  do  we  ?  "  said  he. 

Zac  slowly  shook  his  head. 

'^  No,"  said  he ;  "  I  must  say,  I  don't  like  this  here 
one  mite.  'Tain't  quite  right.  Seems  kin'  o'  un- 
lucky." 

"  Unlucky  ?     How  ?  " 

"  Wal,  fust  and  foremost,  ef  it  hadn't  been  you,  you'd 
never  a'  got  me  to  pint  the  Parson's  nose  for  that 
French  hole,  Louisbourg." 

"Why not?"  asked  Claude, in  some  surprise;  "you 
don't  suppose  that  tliere's  any  danger  —  do  you?" 

"Wal,  it's  a  risky  business  —  no  doubt  o'  that  thar. 
You  see,  my  '})ini()n  is  tliis,  that  Moosoo's  my  nat'ral 
born  enemy,  an'  so  I  don't  like  to  put  myself  into  his 
power." 

"  0,  there's  no  danger,"  said  Claude,  cheerily. 
"  There's  peace  now,  you  know — as  yet." 

Zac  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  said  he,  "  that  ain't  so.  There  ain't  never 
real  peace  out  here.  There's  on'y  a  kin'  o'  partial 
peace  in  the  old  country.  Out  here,  we  fight,  an' 
we've  got  to  go  on  figlitin',  till  one  or  the  other  goes 
down.  An'  as  to  peace,  'tain't  goin'  to  last  long,  even 
in  the  old  country,  'cordin'  to  all  accounts.  There's 
fightin'  already  olf  in  Germany,  or  somewliars,  they 
Bay." 

"  But  you  know,"  said  Claude,  "  you  thought  you 


14 


THE  LILY  AND   THF  CROSS. 


I 


could  manage  this  for  mo  somehow.  You  said  you 
could  put  me  ashore  some\/]icre  witliout  trusting 
yourself  in  Louisbourg  harbor  —  some  bay  or  other  — 
wasn't  it?  I  forget  what  the  name  is.  There's  no 
trouble  about  tliat  now  —  is  tliere  ?  " 

"  Wal,  not  more'n  tliar  was  atbre,"  said  Zac,  slowly ; 
"  on'y  it  seems  more  resky  to  me  here,  jest  now,  settin" 
here  this  way,  inactive  like  ;  p'aps  it's  tlie  fog  that's  had 
a  kin'  o'  depressin'  elfect  on  my  sperrits ;  it's  often  so. 
Or  mebbe  it's  tlie  cifect  of  the  continooal  hearin'  of 
that  darned  frog-eatin'  French  lingo  that  you  go  on  a 
jabberin'  with  the  priest  thar.  I  never  could  abide  it, 
nor  my  lathers  afore  me  ;  an'  how  ever  you — you,  a 
good  Protestant,  an'  a  Massachusetts  boy,  an'  a  loyal 
subject  of  his  most  gracious  majesty.  King  George  ^ — 
can  go  on  that  way,  jabberin'  all  day  long  with  that 
thar  priest  in  that  darned  outlandish  lingo,  —  wal,  it 
beats  me, —  it  does  clar." 

At  this  Claude  bur.     into  a  merry  laugh. 

"  Well,  by  George,"  he  cried,  "  if  this  ain't  the 
greatest  case  of  patriotic  prejudice  !  What's  the  mat- 
ter with  the  French  language?  It's  better  than  Eng- 
lish to  talk  with.  Besides,  even  if  it  wern't,  tlie 
French  can't  help  their  language.  If  it  were  yours, 
you'd  like  it,  you  know.  And  then  I  hope  you're  not 
beginning  to  take  a  prejudice  against  the  good  PCre 
Michel.  He's  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  lived,  by 
George ! " 

"  0,  mind  you,  now,  I  wan't  intendin'  to  say  any- 
thhi'  agin  him,"  said  Zac.  "  I  like  him,  an'  can't  help 
it,  he's  so  gentle,  an'  meek,  an'  has  sech  a  look  out  of 
his  eyes.  Blamed  if  I  don't  sometimes  feel  jest  as 
though  he's  my  father.     0,  no,  I  ain't  got  anythin' 


1 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


15 


said  y'*u 
trusting 
other  — 

liero's  no 

!,  slowly ; 
w,  settin' 
that's  had 
,  often  so. 
learin'  of 
1  go  on  a 
[  abide  it, 
L — you,  a 
ii'  a  loyal 
jeorge  — 
with  that 
—  wal,  it 


ain't  the 
the  mat- 
Ihan  Eng- 
rn't,  tlie 
,re  yours, 
()u're  not 
lood  Pri'O 
lived,   by 

say  any- 
an't  help 
)k  out  of 
d  jest  as 
mythin' 


agin'  him.  Far  from  it.  But  it's  tlie  idee.  For  here, 
you  see  —  tliis  is  tlie  way  it  is  ;  lu;re  aboard  tlie  Parson 
I  see  a  Roman  Catholic;  priest;  I  hear  two  people  jab- 
ber French  all  day  long.  It  nuikes  me  feel  jest  for  all 
the  world  as  though  I'd  got  somehow  into  the  hands 
of  tlie  Philistines.  It  seems  like  beiii'  a  captive.  It 
kin'  o'  seems  a  sort  o'  bad  lookout;  a  kin'  o'  sort  o' 
sign,  you  know,  of  what's  a  goin'  to  happen  afore  1  git 
back  agin." 

At  this,  which  was  spoken  witli  much  earnestness,  and 
with  a  very  solemn  face,  Claude  gave  another  laugh. 

"0,  that's  all  nonsense,''  said  he,  gayly.  "Why, 
you  don't  really  think,  now,  that  you're  going  to  get 
into  trouble  through  me  —  do  you?  And  then  as  to 
Pere  Michel,  wliy,  I  feel  as  much  confidence  in  him  as 
I  do  in  myself.  So  come,  don't  get  into  this  k)w  state 
of  mind,  but  pluck  up  your  spirits.  Never  mind  the 
fog,  or  the  French  language.  They  oughtn't  to  have 
such  an  elTect  on  a  fellow  of  your  size  and  general 
build.  You'll  put  us  ashore  at  that  bay  you  spoke  of, 
and  then  go  home  all  rigiit.  That's  the  way  of  it. 
As  to  the  land,  you  can't  have  any  danger  from  that 
quarter;  and  as  to  the  sea,  why,  you  yourself  said  that 
the  French  cruiser  was  never  built  that  could  catch 
you." 

"  Wal,"  said  Zac,  "  that's  a  fac',  an'  no  mistake. 
Give  me  any  kin'  of  wind,  an'  thar  ain't  a  Moosoo 
afloat  that  can  come  anywhar  nigh  the  Parson.  Still, 
jest  now,  in  this  here  fog,  —  an'  in  the  calm,  too,  —  if 
a  Moosoo  was  to  come  along,  why,  1  railly  don't  — 
quite  —  know  —  wliat  —  I  could  —  railly  do." 

"  The  fog  !  0,  in  the  fog  you'll  be  all  right  enough, 
you  know,"  said  Claude. 


I 


'i 


I 


16 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


"  0,  but  that's  the  very  thing  I  don't  know,"  said  Zac. 
"  That  thar  pint's  tlio  very  identical  pint  that  I  don't 
feel  at  all  clear  about,  an'  Vv'ould  like  to  have  settled." 

Claude  said  nothing  for  a  few  moments.  He  now 
began  to  notice  in  the  face,  tlie  tone,  and  the  manner 
of  Zac  something  very  diflerent  from  usual  —  a  cer- 
tain uneasiness  approaching  to  anxiety,  which  seemed 
to  be  founded  on  something  which  he  had  not  yet  dis- 
closed. 

"  What  do  you  mean  ? "  he  asked,  rather  gravely, 
suddenly  dropping  his  air  of  light  banter. 

Zac  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Wal,"  said  he,  "  this  here  fog  makes  it  very  easy 
for  a  Moosoo  to  haul  up  alongside  all  of  a  suddent,  an' 
ax  you  for  your  papers.  An'  what's  more,"  he  con- 
tinued, dropping  his  voice  to  a  loAver  tone,  and  stoop- 
ing, to  bring  his  mouth  nearer  to  Claude's  ear,  "  what's 
more,  I  don't  know  but  what,  at  this  very  moment, 
there's  a  Moosoo  railly  an'  truly  a  little  mite  nearer 
to  us  than  I  altogether  keer  for  to  hev  him." 

"  What ! "  exclaimed  Claude,  with  a  start ;  "  do  you 
really  think  so  ?    What !  near  us,  here  in  this  fog  ?  " 

"  Railly  an'  truly,"  said  Zac,  solemnly,  "  that's  my 
identical  meanin' — jest  it,  exactly  ;  an'  'tain't  overly 
pleasant,  no  how.  See  here  ;  "  and  Zac  dropped  his 
voice  to  still  lower  tones,  and  drew  still  nearer  to 
Claude,  as  he  continued  — "  see  here,  now ;  I'll  tell 
you  what  happened  jest  now.  As  I  was  a  standin' 
here,  jest  afore  you  come  up,  I  thought  1  heerd  voices 
out  thar  on  the  starboard  quarter  —  voices  —  " 

"  Voices  I "  said  Claude.  "  0,  nonsense  I  Voices ! 
How  can  there  be  voices  out  there  ?  It  must  have 
been  the  water." 


A   TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


17 


Wal/'  continucfl  Zuc,  still  speaking  in  a  low  tone, 
"  that's  the  very  thing  I  thought  when  I  fust  hcerd 
'em  ;  I  thought,  too,  it  must  be  the  water.  But,  if  you 
jest  take  tlie  trouble  to  examine,  you'll  find  that  tliar 
ain't  enough  motion  in  the  water  to  make  any  sound 
at  all.  'Tain't  as  if  thar  was  a  puffin'  of  the  wind  an  a 
dashin'  of  the  waves.  Thar  ain't  no  wind  an'  no 
waves,  unfort'nat'ly  ;  so  it  seems  beyond  a  doubt  that 
it  must  either  be  actooal  voices,  or  else  somethin'  su- 
pernat'ral.  An'  for  my  part  I'd  give  somethin'  for  the 
wind  to  rise  jest  a  leetle  mite,  so's  I  could  step  off  out 
o'  this,  an'  git  out  o'  hearin',  at  least." 

At  this  Claude  was  again  silent  for  some  time, 
thinking  to  himself  whether  the  possibility  of  a  French 
ship  being  near  was  to  be  wished  or  dreaded.  Much 
was  to  be  said  on  both  sides.  To  himself  it  would, 
perhaps,  be  desirable  ;  yet  not  so  to  Zac,  although  he 
tried  to  reassure  the  dejected  skipper  by  telling  him 
that  if  a  French  vessel  should  really  be  so  near,  it  would 
be  all  the  better,  since  his  voyage  would  thereby  bo 
made  all  the  shorter,  for  he  himself  could  go  aboard, 
and  the  Parson  might  return  to  Boston.  But  Zac  re- 
fused to  be  so  easily  comforted. 

"  No,"  said  lie  ;  "  once  I  git  into  their  clutches, 
they'll  never  let  me  go  :  and  as  for  the  poor  old  Parson, 
why,  they'll  go  an'  turn  her  into  a  Papist  priest.  And 
that,"  he  added,  with  a  deep  sigh,  '^  would  be  too  —  al- 
mighty —  bad  ! " 

Claude  now  found  tliat  Zac  was  in  too  despondent  a 
mood  to  listen  to  what  lie  called  reason,  and  therefore 
lie  held  his  tongue.  The  idea  that  a  French  ship 
might  be  somewhere  near,  behind  that  wall  of  fog,  had 
in  it  something  which  to  him  wa^  not  unpleasant,  since 

2 


18 


THE  IJL  y  AND    THE  CROSS. 


•\ 


it  JifTordtMl  some  vjirioty  to  tlio  iiionotoiiy  of  his  sitna- 
tion.  lie  stood,  tlienH'oro,  in  silciico.  witli  liis  I'aco 
tiiniod  towards  tlio  dii-o(^ti(>n  indicatiMl  liy  Zac,  and  lis- 
tened intently,  wliile  the  skip;)er  stood  in  silence  by 
his  side,  listening-  also. 

There  was  no  wind  whatever.  The  water  was  (juite 
smooth,  and  the  Parson  rose  and  fell  at  tlie  slow  undu- 
lations of  the  long  ocean  rollers,  while  at  every  mo- 
tion the  spars  creaked  and  the  sails  flapped  idly.  All 
around  there  arose  a  gray  wall  oi  log,  deep,  dense,  and 
fixed,  which  shut  them  in  on  every  side,  while  over- 
head the  sky  itself  was  concealed  from  view  by  the 
same  dull-gray  cano])y.  Behind  that  wall  of  fog  any- 
thing might  lie  concealed;  the  whole  French  fleet 
might  be  there,  without  those  on  board  the  Parson 
being  anything  the  wiser.  1'his  Claude  felt,  and  as  ho 
thought  of  the  possibility  of  this,  he  began  to  see  that 
Zac's  anxiety  was  very  well  ibunded,  and  that  if  the 
Parson  should  be  captured  it  Avould  be  no  easy  task  to 
deliver  her  from  the  grasp  of  the  captor.  Still  there 
came  no  further  sounds,  and  Claude,  after  listening  for 
a  long  time  without  hearing  anything,  began,  at  length, 
to  conclude  that  Zac  had  been  deceived. 

"  Don't  you  think,"  he  asked,  "  that  it  may,  after  all, 
have  been  the  rustle  of  the  sails,  or  the  creaking  of  the 
spars  ?  " 

Zac  shook  his  head. 

"  No,"  said  he  ;  "  I've  heerd  it  twice ;  an'  I  know 
very  well  all  the  sounds  that  sails  an'  spars  can  make ; 
an'  I  don't  see  as  liow  T  can  l)e  mistook.  (),  no  \  it  was 
human  voice,  an'  nothin'  else  in  natur'.  1  Avouldn't 
mind  it  a  mite  if  1  could  do  anytliin'.  IJut  to  set  here 
an'  jest  git  cauglit,  like  a  I'at  in  a  ti'ap,  is  what  I  call 
too  —  almighty  —  bad  !  " 


Ill's  sitna- 
I  Ills  liico 
Lt',  and  lis- 
•^iloiico  by 

was  (]u\t(i 
ow  iiiidii- 
'VLM-y  ino- 

^^\y.     All 
oust),  and 
lilo  over- 
^v  by  tlio 
fog  any. 
ich   fleet 
3  Parson 
nd  as  he 
SCO  that 
at  if  tha 
i  task  to 

ill  tliere 
minp^  for 

t  length, 

^fter  all, 
g  of  the 


yJ    TALE  OF  ACADIA, 


19 


^    At  this  very  instant,  and  while  Zac  was  yet  speak- 
ing,  there  ean.e  through  the  fog  the  sound  of  a  voiee 
Claude  heard  it  and  Zae  also.     The  latter  grasped  the 
arm  of  h,s  Irn-nd,  and  hehl  his  breath.     It  was  a  human 
v.).ee       J  here  was  not  the  slightest  doubt  now  of  that. 
Vords  had  been  spoken,  but  they  were  u.n-ntelligiblo. 
Ihcy  listened  stdl.     There  was  silenee  for  a  ^.^^  n.o- 
.nonts,and  then   the  silence  was  broken   once  more 
Words   were   again   heard.     They   were   French,  and 
they  heard    hen.  tins  time  with  perfect  distinctness. 
I  hey  were  these:  — 

"  Put  ht^'  head  a  little  over  this  way^ 


I  knoAv 

I  nifdve ; 
;  it  Avas 
ouldn't 
et  here 

I I  call 


20 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


CHArTER    II. 


A   MEETING   IN   MID   OCEAN. 


PUT  liQ,r  head  a  little  over  this  way ! 
They  were  French  words.  To  Chiude,  of  course, 
they  were  perfectly  intelligible,  though  not  so  to  Zuc, 
who  did  not  understand  tiny  language  but  his  mother 
Yankee.  Judging  by  the  distinctness  and  the  loud- 
ness of  the  sound,  the  speaker  could  not  be  very  far 
away.  The  voice  seemed  to  come  from  the  water 
astern.  No  siglit,  however,  was  visible ;  and  the  two, 
as  they  stared  into  the  fog,  saw  nothing  whatever. 
Nor  did  any  of  the  others  on  board  seem  to  have  heard 
the  voice.  The  priest  was  still  intent  on  his  Breviary. 
Terry  was  still  whistling  his  abominable  tune.  Jer- 
icho was  below  with  his  pots  and  pans ;  and  Biler, 
taking  advantage  of  his  absence,  was  seated  on  the 
taffrail  devouring  a  raw  turnip,  which  he  chewed  with 
a  melancholy  air.  To  none  of  these  had  the  voice 
been  audible,  and  therefore  Claude  and  Zac  alone  were 
confronted  with  this  mystery  of  the  deep.  But  it  was 
a  mystery  which  they  could  not  fathom ;  for  the  fog 
was  all  around,  hiding  everything  from  view,  and  the 
more  they  peered  into  the  gloom  the  less  were  they 
able  to  understand  it. 

Neither  of  them  spoke  for  some  time.     Zac  had  not 
understood  the  words,  but  was  more  puzzled  about  the 


A    TALE   OF  A  CADI  A. 


21 


)f  course, 
o  to  Zfic, 
3  mother 
:he  loud- 
very  fUr 
le  water 
the  two, 
hatever. 
ve  heard 
breviary, 
e.     Jer- 
d  Biler, 
on  the 
^ed  witli 
le  voice 
ne  were 
t  it  was 
the  fog 
and  the 
re  they 


fact  of  a  speaker  being  bo  near  on  the  water,  behind 
the  fog,  than  lie  was  about  tlie  meaning  of  the  words 
whicli  liad  been  spoken.  That  seemed  to  be  quite  a 
secondary  consideration.  And  it  was  not  until  he  liad 
exhausted  his  resources  in  trying  to  imagine  what  or 
wiiero  the  one  might  be,  tliat  he  thought  of  asking 
about  tlie  other. 

"What  did  it  mean?"  he  asked,  at  length. 

Claude  told  him. 

Zac  said  notliing  for  some  time. 

"  I  wonder  whetlier  they've  seen  us,"  said  he,  at 
length.  "  No  —  'tain't  possible.  The  fog's  too  thick  — 
and  we're  as  invisible  to  tliem  as  tliey  are  to  us.  Be- 
sides, these  words  show  that  they  ain't  thinkin'  about 
anybody  but  themselves.  Well,  all  we've  got  to  do 
is  to  keep  as  still  as  a  mouse,  an'  I'll  jest  go  an'  warn 
the  boys." 

With  these  words  Zac  moved  softly  away  to  warn 
his  crew.  First  he  went  to  Terry,  and  informed  him 
that  the  whole  fleet  of  France  was  around  the  Parson, 
and  that  their  only  chance  of  safety  was  to  keep  silent 
—  a  piece  of  information  which  eifectually  stopped 
Terry's  singing  and  whistling  for  some  time  ;  then  he 
told  Biler,  in  a  friendly  way,  that  if  he  spoke  above  a 
whisper,  or  made  any  noise,  he'd  pitch  him  overboard 
with  an  anchor  tied  to  his  neck.  Then  he  warned 
Jericho.  As  for  Pore  Michel,  he  felt  that  warning 
was  unnecessary,  for  the  priest  was  too  absorbed  in 
his  book  to  be  conscious  of  the  external  world.  After 
this,  he  came  back  to  Claude,  who  had  been  listening 
ever  since  he  left,  but  without  hearing  anything  more. 

"  We  must  have  drifted  nearer  together,"  said  Zac. 
"  The  voice  was  a  good  deal  louder  than  when  I  fust 


'i 


i  I 


22 


THE  IJL)'  AM)    rill':   CROSS. 


liocrd  it.  My  (tnly  hope  is,  tliaf,  tlioy'U  drift  past  us, 
an'  we'll  git  liirtlicr  away  IVoiu  tlioin.  Hut  I  wonder 
what  tlicy  meant  l)y  hriiigin'  lier  head  round.  P'aps 
they've  seen  us,  after  all  —  an'  then,  again,  p'aps  they 
haven't." 

He  said  this  in  a  whisper,  and  Claude  answered  in 
another  whis[)er. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Claude,  "  that  if  they'd  seen 
ns,  they'd  have  said  sometliing  more  —  or,  at  \\\\y  rate, 
they'd  have  made  more  noise.  J5ut  as  it  is,  they've 
been  perfeetly  silent." 

"  Wal  —  1  on'y  hope  we  won't  hear  any  thin'  more 
of  them." 

For  more  than  two  hours  silence  was  observed  on 
board  the  Parson.  Terry  stopped  all  wliistling,  and 
occupied  himself  with  scr.itching  his  bullet  head.  The 
priest  sat  motionless,  reading  his  book.  Jericho  drew 
the  unhappy  J3iler  down  below  for  safe  keeping,  and 
detained  him  there  a  melanclioly  {)ris()ner.  (Uaudo 
and  Zac  stood  listening,  but  nothing  more  was  heard. 

To  Claude  there  seemed  something  weird  and 
ghostly  in  tliis  incident — a  voice  thus  sounding  sud- 
denly Ib'ih  out  of  notlu'ngness,  and  \\\o\\  dying  away 
into  the  silence  from  wliicli  it  had  emerged :  there 
was  tliat  in  it  which  made  liim  feel  a  sensation  of  in- 
voluntary awe ;  and  the  longer  the  silence  continued, 
the  more  did  this  incident  surround  itself  with  a  cer- 
tain supernatural  element,  until,  at  length,  he  began 
to  fancy  that  his  senses  might  liave  deceived  him. 
Yet  he  knew  that  this  had  not  been  the  case.  Zac 
had  heard  the  voice  as  well  as  he,  and  the  words  to 
iiim  had  been  perfectly  })lain.  Fid  her  Iteud  a  little  over 
this  icay !     Singular  words,  too,  they  seemed  to  be, 


A    TALK   OF  ACADIA. 


23 


.  past  us, 
I  woridor 
\.  P'aps 
'lips  thoy 

wcred  in 

3y'd  seen 
jimy  rate, 
,  tlioy'vo 

in'  more 

;rved  on 
ling,  and 
id.    The 
'ho  drew 
ing,  and 
(vUaude 
licard. 
rd  and 
ng  sud- 
:  away 
tlioro 
1  of  in- 
timied, 
a  cer- 
bogan 
I  him. 
.     Zac 
)rds  to 
le  over 
to  be. 


as  ho  turned  th.cm  over  in  liis  mind.  Under  other 
circumstances  they  miglit  have  been  regiirdcd  as  per- 
lettly  c()mm()nj)laco,  but  now  the  siirroiUKhngs  gave 
tlunn  the  i)ossibility  of  a  varied  interpretation.  Who 
was  the  "  her"?  What  was  meanl  ?  Was  it  a  ship,  or 
a  woman?  What  could  the  meaning  be?  Or,  again, 
might  not  tliis  have  been  some  supernatural  voice 
sj)eaking  to  them  from  the  Unseen,  and  conveying  to 
them  some  sentence  either  of  good  or  of  evil  omen, 
giving  them  some  direction,  perhaps,  about  tlie  course 
of  the  schooner  in  which  lie  was  ? 

Not  tliat  Claude  was  what  is  called  a  superstitious 
man.  From  ordinary  su})erstition  he  was,  indeed, 
quite  as  free  as  any  man  of  his  age  or  e{)och  ;  nor  was 
he  even  influenced  by  any  of  the  conunon  superstitious 
fancies  then  prevalent.  i>ut  still  there  is  a  natural 
belief  in  the  unseen  which  prevails  among  all  men, 
and  (laude's  fancy  was  busy,  being  stimuhited  by  this 
incident,  so  that,  as  he  endeavored  to  account  for  it, 
ho  was  as  easily  drawn  towards  a  supernatural  theory 
as  to  a  natural  one.  Hundreds  of  miles  from  laud,  on 
the  broad  ocean,  a  voic-e  had  sounded  from  behind  the 
impenetrable  cloud,  and  it  was  scarcely  to  be  won- 
dered at  that  he  cojisidered  it  something  unearthly. 

Under  other  circumstances  Zac  miiiht  also  have 
yielded  to  superstitious  fancies ;  but  as  it  was,  his 
mind  had  been  too  completely  hlled  with  the  one  ab- 
sorbing idea  of  the  French  lleet  to  lind  room  Ibr  any 
other  thought.  It  was  not  an  unsubstantial  ghost 
which  Zac  dreaded,  but  the  too  substantial  form  of 
some  frigate  looming  through  the  fog,  and  liring  a  gun 
to  bring  him  on  board.  Every  additional  moment  of 
silence  gave  him  a  feeling  of  relief,  for  he  felt  that 


!i 


li 


24 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


tliese  moments,  as  they  passed,  drew  him  away  farther 
from  the  danger  that  had  been  so  near. 

At  length  a  new  turn  came  to  the  current  of  affairs. 
A  puff  of  wind  suddenly  filled  the  sails,  and  at  its  first 
breath  Zac  started  up  witli  a  low  chuckle. 

"  I'd  give  ten  guineas,"  said  he,  "  for  one  good 
hooray  —  I  would,  by  George  !  But  bein'  as  it  is,  I'll 
postpone  that  till  I  haul  off  a  few  miles  from  this." 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter  ? "  said  Claude,  rousing 
himself  out  of  his  abstraction. 

"  Matter  ?  "  repeated  Zac.  "  Why,  the  wind's  hauled 
round  to  the  nor'west,  and  tlic  fog's  goin'  .0  lift,  an' 
the  Parson's  goin'  to  show  her  heels." 

With  these  words,  Zac  hurried  to  the  tiller,  which 
he  took  from  the  smiling  Terry,  and  began  to  bring 
the  vessel  round  to  run  her  before  the  wind. 

'•  Don't  care  a  darn  whar  I  go  to  jest  now,"  said  he, 
"  so's  I  on'y  put  a  mile  or  two  between  us  and  the 
Frenchman.  Arter  that  we  can  shape  our  course 
satisfactory." 

And  now  the  wind,  which  had  thus  turned,  blew 
more  steadily  till  it  became  a  sustained  breeze  of 
sufficient  strength  to  carry  the  schooner,  with  very 
satisfactory  speed,  out  of  the  unpleasant  proximity  to 
the  Frenchman.  And  as  it  blew,  the  clouds  lessened, 
and  the  circle  of  fog  which  had  surrounded  them  was 
every  moment  removed  to  a  greater  distance,  while 
the  view  over  the  water  grew  wider  and  clearer.  All 
this  was  inexpressibly  delightful  to  Zac,  who,  as  it 
were,  with  one  bound  passed  from  the  depths  of 
despondency  up  to  joyousness  and  hope. 

But  suddenly  a  siglit  appeared  which  filled  him  with 
amazement,  a  sight  Avhich  attracted  all  his  thoughts, 


ly  farther 

of  affairs. 
it  its  first 

3no  good 
it  is,  I'll 
this." 
,  rousing 

I's  hauled 
3  lift,  an' 

3r,  which 
to  bring 

'  said  he, 

and  the 

r   course 

>d,  blew 
•coze  of 
ith  very 
:imity  to 
cssened, 
icm  was 
0,  while 
or.  All 
10,  as  it 
pths   of 

im  with 
loughts, 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


25 


■■I 


■f 


and  in  an  instant  clianged  all  his  feelings  and  plans. 
It  was  a  sight  which  had  become  revealed  on  the  dis- 
persion of  the  fog,  showing  itself  to  tlicir  wondering 
eyes  out  there  upon  the  sea  astern,  in  the  place  where 
they  had  been  looking  for  that  French  cruiser,  which 
Zac  had  feared. 

No  French  cruiser  was  it  that  they  saw,  no  ship  of 
war  witli  hostile  flag  and  hostile  arms,  no  sight  of  fear ; 
but  a  siglit  full  of  infinite  patlios  and  sadness  —  a 
pitiable,  a  melancholy  sight.  It  was  about  half  a  mile 
behind  them,  for  that  was  about  tlie  distance  which 
tliey  had  traversed  since  the  wind  had  changed  and 
the  schooner's  direction  had  been  altered. 

It  seemed  at  first  like  a  black  spot  on  the  v  .iter, 
such  as  a  projecting  rock  or  a  floating  spar ;  but  as 
the  fog  faded  away  the  object  became  more  percep- 
tible. Then  they  could  see  human  figures,  some  of 
whom  were  erect,  and  others  lying  down.  They  were 
on  what  seemed  to  be  a  sort  of  raft,  and  the  whole  atti- 
tude of  the  little  group  showed  most  plainly  that  they 
had  suffered  shipwreck,  and  were  here  now  floating 
about  helplessly,  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  tide,  far 
out  at  sea.  IMoreover,  these  had  already  seen  the 
schooner,  for  they  were  waving  their  arms  and  ges- 
ticulating Avildly. 

One  glance  was  enough  for  both  Zac  and  Claude, 
and  then  the  exclamation  which  they  gave  drew  t  lie  re 
the  attention  of  all  the  others.  The  priest  looked  up, 
and  putting  his  book  back  in  his  pocket,  walked  to- 
wards them,  while  Terry  gave  one  swift  look,  and  then 
disappeared  below. 

"  Quick  wid  ye,"  he  called  to  Jericho;  "put  on  a 
couple  of  barls  o'  ta-ters  to  bile.    There's  a  shipwrecked 


! 


''i 


26 


77/ Jt    7J7^Y  AXD    77 IE   CVv'OSS. 


^jllil 


raft  afloat  out  tlioro  boyaiit,  a''  they're  all  dyin'  or 
dead  av  stai'vution,  so  tlioy  are." 

"  0,  you  jort  go  long  wid  yer  nonsensical  tomfool- 
ery," said  Jericlio. 

''  Toinlbolery,  is  it?  Go  up,  tliin,  an'  Ink  for  yerself," 
cried  Terry,  wlio  l)oundod  up  on  deck  again,  and  be- 
gan to  prepare  for  action.  At  tliis  Jericlio  put  on  his 
nose  an  enormous  pair  of  spectacles,  and  thus  equipped 
climbed  upon  deck,  followed  closely  l)y  tlie  melancholy 
Bilei*,  who  devoured  a  carrot  as  lie  went  up. 

By  this  time  Zac  luid  l)roug]it  the  Parson's  head 
round  once  more,  and  steered  lor  tlie  raft,  calling  out 
to  Terry  to  get  tlie  l)oat  afloat.  Terry  and  Jerry  then 
Avent  to  work,  assisted  by  Biler,  and  soon  the  boat  was 
in  the  water. 

"  Ef  I  hadn't  ben  sich  a  darned  donkey,"  said  Zac, 
in  a  tone  of  vexation,  "  1  nn'ght  have  got  at  'cm  before, 
an'  saved  'cm  all  these  hours  of  extra  starvation.  Ef 
I'd  only  yelled  l)ack  when  I  fust  heerd  the  voice  ! 
Who  knows  but  that  some  of  'em  hev  died  in  the  time 
that's  ben  lost?" 

"  Can't  we  run  alongside  witliout  the  boat  ?  "  asked 
Claude. 

"Wal,  3'es,"  said  Zac;  ^'but  then,  you  know,  wo 
couldn't  stay  alongside  when  we  got  thar,  an'  so  we've 
got  to  take  'cm  oif  with  the  boat  the  best  way  we  can." 

They  were  not  long  in  retracing  their  way,  and  soon 
came  near  enough.  Zac  then  gave  up  the  tiller  to 
Terry,  telling  him  to  keep  as  near  as  possible.  lie 
then  got  into  the  boat,  and  Claude  followed,  by  Zac's 
invitation,  as  well  as  his  own  urgent  request.  Each 
took  an  oar,  and  after  a  few  strokes,  they  were  up  to 
the  raft.     The  raft  was  on  a  level  with  the  water,  and 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


27 


dyin'  or 

tomfool- 

ycrsclf," 
and  bo- 
lt on  his 
quipped 
lanelioly 

I's  liead 
lling  out 
rry  then 
boat  was 

aid  Zac, 

1  before, 

on.     Ef 

voice  ! 

he  time 

asked 


low,  wo 
p  we've 
"e  can." 
id  soon 
[iller  to 
le.     Ho 


y 


IC  s 


Zi 

Each 

up  to 

and 


ler, 


was  barely  able  to  sustain  the  weiglit  of  tliose  who 
had  found  refuge  on  it.  It  sccuned  hke  the  poop  or 
round-house  of  some  sliip  wliicli  liad  been  beaten  off 
by  the  fury  of  tlie  waves,  ;nid  liad  afterwards  been  re- 
sorted to  by  those  who  now  chnig  to  it. 

The  occupants  of  the  raft  wore,  indeed,  a  melanclioly 
group.  They  were  seven  in  numl)er.  Of  these,  two 
were  connnon  seamen;  a  third  kioked  hke  a  sliip's 
officer,  and  wore  the  uniform  of  a  second  Heutenant ; 
tlie  fourth  was  a  gentleman,  who  seemed  about  forty 
years  of  age.  These  four  were  standing,  and  as  the 
boat  approaclied  tliem  they  gave  utterance  to  every 
possible  cry  of  joy  and  of  gratitude.  But  it  was  the 
other  three  occupar\ts  of  tlie  raft  that  most  excited  the 
attention  of  Claude  and  Zac. 

An  old  man  was  seated  there,  with  thin,  emaciated 
frame,  and  snow-white  liair.  TL^  was  holding  in  his 
arms  a  young  girl,  while  beside  her  knelt  anotlier 
young  girl,  wlio  seemed  like  the  attendant  of  the  first, 
and  botli  the  old  man  and  the  maid  were  most  solicit- 
ous in  their  attentions.  'I'he  object  of  these  attentions 
was  exquisitely  beaut iCul.  Her  slender  Irame  seemed 
to  have  been  worn  l)y  long  privation,  ;inu  weakened 
by  famine  and  exposure.  Her  face  was  pale  and  wan, 
but  still  showed  tlie  rounded  outlines  of  youth.  Her 
hair  was  all  dishevelled,  as  though  it  had  been  long 
the  sport  of  the  rude  tempest  and  the  ocean  billow, 
and  hung  in  disordered  masses  over  her  liead  and 
shoulders.  Her  dress,  though  saturated  with  wet  from 
the  sea  and  the  fog,  was  of  rich  material,  and  showed 
her  to  belong  to  l<»ity  rank;  while  the  costume  of  the 
old  man  indicated  the  same  high  social  position.  The 
young  lady  was  not  senseless,  but  only  weak,  perhaps 


w 


28 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


iii ! 


I, 


iiiilii^ 


.1 


\\\ 


from  sudden  excitement.  As  slio  reclined  in  tlie  old 
man's  arms,  her  eyes  were  fixed  upon  the  open  boat ; 
and  Claude,  as  he  turned  to  grasp  the  rait,  caught  her 
full  gaze  fixed  upon  him,  witli  a  glance  from  lier  large 
dark  eyes  that  tluMlled  tln-ougli  liim,  i'ull  of  unutter- 
able gratitude.  Jler  lips  moved,  not  a  word  escaped, 
but  tears  more  eloquent  than  words  rolled  slowly 
down. 

Such  was  the  siglit  that  greeted  Claude  as  he 
stepped  from  the  boat  upon  the  raft.  In  an  instant 
he  was  caught  in  tlie  embraces  of  the  men,  who,  fren- 
zied with  joy  at  tlie  approach  of  deliverance.  Hung 
themselves  upon  him.  But  Claude  had  no  eyes  for 
any  one  but  the  lovely  young  girl,  whose  gaze  of 
speechless  gratitude  was  never  removed  from  him. 

"  Messieurs,"  said  Claude,  wlio  knew  them  to  be 
French,  and  addressed  them  in  their  own  language, 
"you  shall  all  be  saved;  but  all  cannot  go  at  once; 
we  must  save  tlie  weakest  first ;  and  we  will,  therefore, 
take  these  noAv,  and  come  back  for  you  afterwards." 

Saying  this,  he  stooped  down  so  as  to  raise  the  young 
lady  in  his  arms,  and  carry  her  aboard.  The  old 
man  held  her  up,  uttering  inarticulate  murmurs,  that 
sounded  like  blessings  on  tlieir  deliverer.  Claude 
lifted  the  girl  as  though  she  had  been  a  child,  and 
stepped  towards  the  boat.  Zac  was  already  on  the 
raft,  and  held  the  boat,  while  Claude  stepped  aboard. 
The  old  man  then  tried  to  rise  and  follow,  assisted  by 
the  maid,  l)ut,  after  one  or  two  elforts,  sank  back,  in- 
capable of  keeping  his  feet.  Upon  this  Zac  flung  the 
rope  to  the  French  lieutenant,  and  walked  over  to  the 
old  man.  Claude  now  had  returned,  having  left  the 
girl  in  the  stern  of  the  boat. 


■ym 


A   TALE  OF  ACAD/ A. 


29 


L  the  old 
3n  boat ; 
iiglit  lior 
ler  lai'i^o 
iiniitter- 
cacaped, 
1    slowly 

e  as  lie 
1  instant 
ho,  fren- 
ce,  Hung 
eyes  for 
gaze  of 
)m  him. 
m  to  be 
anguage, 
at  once ; 
hcrefore, 
i^ards." 
le  young 
The  old 
urs,  tliat 

Claude 
lild,  and 

on  the 

aboard. 

sted  by 

)ack,  in- 


"  Look  hero,"  said  Zac,  as  lie  caino  up ;  "  the  old 
gentleman  can't  walk.  You'd  best  carry  him  aboard, 
and  I'll  carry  the  gal." 

With  these  words  Zac  turned  towards  the  maid  ; 
slie  looked  up  at  him  witli  a  sliy  ghmce,  and  sliowed 
such  a  pretty  face,  such  black  eyes  and  smiling  lips, 
tliat  Zac  for  a  moment  hesitated,  feeling  quite  para- 
lyzed by  an  overflow  of  bashfulness.  But  it  was  not 
a  time  to  stand  on  ceremony  ;  and  so  honest  Zac,  with- 
out more  ado,  seized  the  girl  in  his  arms,  and  bore  her 
to  the  boat,  where  he  deposited  her  very  carefully  by 
the  side  of  the  other.  Claude  now  followed,  carrying 
the  old  man,  whom  he  placed  beside  the  young  lady, 
so  that  he  and  the  maid  could  support  lier  as  before. 
There  was  yet  room  for  one  more,  and  the  gentleman 
still  on  the  raft  came  forward  at  Claude's  invitation, 
and  took  his  place  in  the  bows.  The  rest  waited  on 
the  raft.  The  boat  then  returned  to  the  scliooner, 
which  now  had  come  very  close.  Here  Claude  lifted 
the  lady  high  in  the  air,  and  Pore  Michel  took  lier 
from  his  arms.  Claude  then  got  on  board  the  schooner, 
and  took  her  to  the  cabin,  where  he  laid  her  on  a 
couch.  Zac  then  lifted  up  the  maid,  who  was  helped 
on  board  by  Pore  Michel,  where  Claude  met  her,  and 
took  her  to  the  cabin.  Zac  then  lifted  up  the  old  man, 
and  Pere  Michel  stood  ready  to  receive  him  also. 

And  now  a  singular  incident  occurred.  As  Zac 
raised  tlie  old  man,  Pere  Michel  caught  siglit  of  his 
face,  and  regarded  it  distinctly.  The  old  man's  eyes 
were  half  closed,  and  lie  took  no  notice  of  anything ; 
but  there  was  something  in  that  face  which  produced 
a  profound  impression  cm  Pere  Michel.  He  stood 
rigid,  as  though  rooted  to  the  spot,  looking  at  the  old 


30 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


man  with  a  fixed  stare.  Then  his  arms  sank  down, 
his  head  also  fell  forward,  and  turninji;  ahrnptly  away, 
he  walked  forward  to  tlie  bows.  Upon  tliis  Jericho 
came  forward  ;  and  he  it  was  wlio  lifted  the  old  man 
on  board  and  assisted  him  to  the  cabin. 

After  this,  the  other  gentleman  got  on  board,  and 
then  the  boat  returned  and  took  off  the  other  occu- 
pants of  the  raft. 


^^ 


down, 
^  away, 
Jericho 
1(1  man 

Li'd,  and 
r  occu- 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


CHAPTER  III. 


NEW   FRIENDS. 


31 


EVERY  arrangement  was  made  that  could  be  made 
within  the  confines  of  a  small  schooner  to  secure 
the  comfort  of  the  strangers.  To  the  young  lady  and 
her  maid  Claude  gave  up  the  state-room  which  he  him- 
self had  thus  far  occupied,  and  which  was  the  best  on 
board,  while  Zac  gave  up  his  to  the  old  man.  The 
others  were  all  comfortably  disposed  .of,  and  Zac  and 
Claude  stowed  themselves  away  as  best  they  could, 
feeling  indifferent  about  themselves  so  long  as  they 
could  minister  to  the  wants  of  their  guests.  Food 
and  sleep  were  the  things  tliat  were  the  most  needed 
by  all  these  new-comers,  and  these  they  had  in  abun- 
dance. Under  the  beneficial  effects  of  these,  they  be- 
gan to  regain  their  strength.  The  seamen  rallied 
first,  as  was  most  natural ;  and  from  these  Claude 
learned  the  story  of  their  misfortunes. 

The  lost  ship  had  been  the  French  frigate  Arethuse, 
which  had  left  Brest  about  a  month  previously,  on  a 
voyage  to  Louisbourg  and  Quebec.  The  old  gentle- 
man was  the  Comte  do  Laborde,  and  of  the  two  girls 
whom  they  had  saved,  one  was  his  daughter,  and  the 
other  her  maid.  The  other  gentleman  was  the  Comte 
de  Cazeneau.  This  last  was  on  his  way  to  Louis- 
bourg, where   an  important  post  was  awaiting  him. 


32 


11  IE  LILV  AM)    1UI-:   CROSS, 


?l 


if. 

III 

km 


^m 


AWm 


I 


About  ii  wc'L'k  lu'Cnro  tliis  tlio  Arethuso  liad  cn- 
coiiutorod  ;i  s(^V(M"o  giilc,  accoinpiuiiocl  by  a  dciiso 
In^-,  ill  which  tlioy  Iiad  h)st  (heir  rei'lconiiig.  To  add 
to  llicir  miseries,  they  tbiiiid  themselves  suiTouiided 
by  i(;eborgs,  amoii^L;;  which  uavi;j,'ati()n  was  mo  diffi- 
cult that  the  seamen  all  became  demoralizi  d.  At 
leii<;'th  the  ship  struck  one  ol"  Ihese  lloating  masses, 
and  instantly  began  to  fill.  Tlie  desperate  ellbrts  of 
tlio  crew,  Jiowever,  Bcrvod  to  keep  her  afloat  for 
another  day,  and  might  liavo  saved  lier,  had  it  not 
been  for  the  continuation  of  the  fog.  On  the  follow- 
ing niglit,  in  the  midst  of  intense  darkness,  she  once 
more  struck  against  an  iceberg,  and  this  time  the 
consecjuences  were  more  serious.  A  Imge  fragment 
of  ice  fell  upon  tlie  poop,  sliattering  it  and  sweeping  it 
overboard.  In  an  in^jtunt  all  discipline  was  at  an  end. 
It  was  ficiuvc  qui  pent.  The  crew^  took  to  the  boats. 
One  of  these  went  down  with  all  on  board,  while  tlie 
others  passed  away  into  the  darkness.  This  little 
liandful  had  thrown  themselves  npon  the  ship's  poop, 
which  w^as  floating  ah)ngside  w^ithin  reach,  just  in 
time  to  escape  being  dragged  down  by  the  sinking 
ship ;  and  there,  for  days  and  nights,  with  scarcely 
any  food,  and  no  shelter  whatever,  they  had  drifted 
amid  tlie  dense  fog,  until  all  hope  liad  died  out  utterly. 
Such  had  been  their  situation  wdien  rescue  came. 

Claude,  upon  hearing  this  story,  expressed  a  sympa- 
thy which  Avas  most  sincere  ;  and  to  the  seamen  it 
was  all  the  pleasanter  as  his  accent  showed  him  to  be 
a  countryman.  But  tlie  general  sympathy  which  the 
young  man  felt,  sincere  though  it  was,  could  not  be 
compared  Avith  that  special  sympathy  which  he  experi- 
enced for  the  lovely  young  girl  whom  he  had  borne 


"*^ 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


33 


had    cn- 
a    (lonso 
Ti)  add 
urrouiided 
Ls  so  difli- 
li/.  d.     At 
iig  masses, 
cilbrts  of 
afloat   for 
had  it  not 
the  folio w- 
;;,  she  once 
\   time   the 
e  fragment 
^wcepmg  it 
^  at  an  end. 
)   the  boats. 
I,  while  the 
This   little 
blip's  poop, 
,ch,  just   in 
e   sinking 
ith  scarcely 
Ihad  drifted 
out  utterly, 
came, 
d  a  sympa- 
seamen  it 
|l  him  to  be 
which  the 
uld  not  be 
1  he  experi- 
had  borne 


from  the  raft  into  the  sdiooncr,  nnd  whose  doop  glance 
of  speechless  gratitude  liad  never  since  faded  from  Ids 
meiiiorv.  She  was  now  aboard,  jiml  was  occu})ying 
his  own  room.  ^h>i'c  than  this,  slie  had  already  taken 
\\\)  a  position  within  his  mind  wliich  was  a  pre-eminent 
one.  She  had  driven  out  every  thought  of  everything 
else.  The  liighest  desire  whicli  lie  had  was  to  see 
once  again  that  face  which  had  become  so  vividly  im- 
pressed upon  liis  memoiy,  and  lind  out  what  it  miglit 
be  like  in  less  anxious  moments.  J>ut  for  this  he 
would  have  to  wait. 

Meanwhile  the  schooner  had  resumed  her  voyage, 
in  wliicli,  however,  she  made  but  slow  progress.  The 
wind,  which  had  come  up  so  o])p()rtunely,  died  out 
again  ;  and,  though  the  fog  had  gone,  still  lor  a  few 
days  thev  did  little  else  than  drift. 

After  tiie  lirst  day  and  night  tlu^  (\)unt  de  Laborde 
came  ujjon  deck,  lie  was  extremely  feeble,  and  had 
great  dilHculty  in  walking;  with  him  were  his  daugh- 
ter and  her  maid.  Altiiough  her  exhaustion  and  pros- 
tration on  the  raft  had,  apparently,  been  even  greater 
than  his,  yet  youth  was  on  her  side,  and  she  had  been 
ahle  to  rally  much  more  rapidly.  She  and  her  maid 
supj)orted  the  feeble  old  count,  and  anxiously  antici- 
pated his  wants  with  the  i'ondest  care. 

Claude  had  hoped  for  this  appearance,  and  was  not 
disapj)ointed.  lie  had  ^ii<i\\  her  iirst  as  she  was  emer- 
ging IVom  the  valley  of  the  shadow  of  deatli,  with  the 
stamp  of  sorrow  and  despair  upon  her  features;  but 
now  no  trace  of  despair  remained  ;  her  face  was  sweet 
and  joyous  l)oyon(l  ex})ression,  with  the  grace  of  a 
childdike  innocence  and  purity.  The  other  passen- 
ger, whom  the  lieutenant  of  the  Arethuse  had  called 
3 


.J: 


i  m  i 


34 


77//:'  L/LV  AND   THE  CROSS, 


tlio  Count  do  Cii/(Mi('!iii,  was  also  on  (l(H'k,  and,  on  see- 
ing Lahonlo  and  his  (laii^'httu',  lio  hastunod  towards 
tlii'in  witli  tlio  uhnost  f'orvor  of  congratulations.  Tlio 
lieutenant  also  went  to  pay  liis  respeets.  ^Flie  young 
countess  was  most  gracious,  thanking  them  for  their 
good  wishes,  and  assuring  them  tliat  she  was  as  well 
as  over;  and  then  her  eyes  wandered  awny, and, alter 
a  brief  interval,  at  length  rested  with  a  ti\e(l  and 
earnest  look  full  u})on  Claude.  The  glance  tin'illed 
tlu'ough  him.  For  a  moment  he  stood  as  if  fixed  to 
the  spot;  hut  at  length,  mastering  his  (^motion,  he 
went  towards  her. 

''  Hero  he  is,  papa,  dearest,"  said  she,  —  "our  nohlo 
deliverer.  —  And,  (),  monsieur,  how  can  we  ever  find 
words  to  thank  yon  ?  " 

"Dear  monsieur,"  said  the  old  count,  embracing 
Claude,  "  Heaven  will  rewai'd  you  ;  our  words  are  use- 
leas. —  Mimi,"he  continued,  turning  to  his  daughter, 
"  your  dream  was  a  true  one.  —  You  must  know,  mon- 
sieur, that  she  dreamed  that  a  young  Frenchman  came 
in  an  open  boat  to  save  us.     And  so  it  really  was." 

Mimi  smiled  and  blushed. 

"  Ah,  papa,  dear,"  she  said,  "  I  dreamed  because  I 
hoped.  I  always  hoped,  but  you  always  desponded. 
And  now  it  has  been  better  than  our  hopes. —  But, 
monsieur,  may  we  not  know  the  name  of  our  de- 
liverer ?  " 

She  held  out  her  little  hand  as  she  said  this.  Claude 
raised  it  respectfully  to  his  lips,  bowing  low  as  he  did 
so.  lie  tlien  gave  his  name,  but  hastened  to  assure 
them  that  he  was  not  their  preserver,  insisting  that 
Zac  had  the  better  chiim  to  tliat  title.  To  this,  how- 
ever, the  others  listened  with  polite  incredulity,  and 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA, 


35 


1(1,  on  Roo- 
l  towards 
ons.  Tlu; 
Mio  voun^ 
I  lor  their 
as  as  well 
,  ;m<l,  Jif'tcl" 
iixod  5111(1 
•o  tlirillod 
if  iixod  to 
notion,    lio 

"  our  noblo 
s  ever  lind 

embracing 

•ds  are  use- 

daugliter, 

now,  mon- 

nnan  came 


y 


was. 


11 


because  I 
tlesponded. 
)es. —  But, 
lot"  our  de- 
lis. Claude 
as  lie  did 
to  assure 
listing  that 
this,  liow- 
Idulity,  and 


% 


Minii  evidently  considered  it  all  tlie  mere  cxprcssio! 
of  a  yoinig  man's  modesty.     She  waved  her  little  hand 
with  a  sunny  smile. 

"  iiVi  ^i'e//,"  she  said,  "  I  see,  monsieur,  it  pains  you 
to  have  people  too  gratel'ul ;  so  we  will  say  no  more 
about  it.  We  must  satisiy  ourselves  by  remeud)oring 
and  by  praying." 

Here  the  conversation  was  interrupted  l)y  the  in- 
terposition of  the  Count  de  Cazeneau,  who  came  for- 
ward to  add  his  thjuiks  to  those  of  Laborde.  He 
made  a  little  set  speech,  to  which  Claude  listened  with 
something  of  chagrin,  for  he  did  not  like  being  placed 
in  the  position  of  general  savior  and  ])reserver,  wlien 
he  knew  that  Zac  deserved  ([uite  as  much  credit  ibr 
what  had  been  done  as  he  did.  Tiiis  was  not  unob- 
served by  Mimi,  who  appreciated  his  feelings  and 
came  to  his  relief. 

"  M.  Motier  does  not  like  being  praised,"  said  she. 
''  Let  us  respect  his  delicacy." 

But  C^izeneau  was  not  to  be  stopped  so  easily.  He 
seemed  like  one  who  had  prepared  a  speech  carefully 
and  with  much  labor,  and  was,  accordingly,  bound  to 
give  it  all  ;  so  Claude  was  forced  to  listen  to  an  elo- 
(pient  and  inflated  })anegyric  about  himself  and  his 
heroisu],  without  being  able  to  oifer  anything  more 
than  an  occasional  modest  disclaimer.  And  all  the 
time  the  deep,  dark  glance  of  Mimi  was  fixed  on 
him,  as  though  she  would  read  his  soul.  H',  indeed, 
she  had  any  skill  in  reading  eliaracter,  it  was  easy 
enougli  to  see  in  tlie  face  of  that  young  man  a  pure,  a 
lofty,  and  a  generous  nature,  unsullied  by  anything 
mean  or  low,  a  guileless  and  earnest  heart,  a  soul  sans 
peur  et  sans  reproche ;  and  it  did  seem  by  the  expres- 


.-' / 


)i! 


36 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


sioii  ol'lic^'  own  fticc  as  tlioiigli  .she  had  read  all  this  in 
Claude. 

Further  conversation  of  a  general  nature  followed, 
whicli  served  to  explain  tlie  position  of  all  of  tlieni 
with  reference  to  one  anotlier.  (*laude  was  tlie  vii'fual 
master  of  tlie  scliooner,  since  lie  liad  cliar'crLMl  it  iin' 
his  owm  purposes.  To  all  of  tlieni,  therefore,  lie  seemed 
first  their  savior,  and  secondly  their  host  and  entei'- 
tainer,  to  whom  they  were  hound  to  ieel  chiefly  grate- 
ful. Yet  none  the  less  did  they  endeavor  to  include 
the  lionest  skipper  in  their  gratitude  ;  and  Zac?  caiiio 
in  foi'  a  large  share  of  it.  Though  he  could  not  under- 
stand any  of  the  w^ords  ^sdiich  they  addressed  to  him, 
yet  he  w^as  easily  able  to  guess  what  they  were  driving 
at,  and  so  he  modestly  disclaimed  it  all  with  the  ex- 
pression,— 

'^  0,  sho  !  slio,  now  !  sho,  sho  !  " 

They  now  learned  that  Claude  w^as  on  In's  way  to 
Louisbourg,  and  that  they  wHudd  thus  be  able  to  reach 
their  original  destination.  They  also  learned  the  cir- 
cumstances of  Zac,  and  his  peculiar  unwillingness  to 
trust  his  schooner  inside  the  harbor  of  Louisl)()urg. 
Zac's  scruples  were  respected  by  them,  though  they 
all  declared  that  there  was  no  real  danger.  They 
were  sufficiently  satisfied  to  be  able  to  reach  anv  point 
near  Louisbourg,  and  did  not  seek  to  press  Zac  against 
his  will,  or  to  change  his  opinion  upon  a  point  Avliero 
it  was  so  strongly  expressed. 

No  sooner  had  these  new  passengers  thus  unexpect- 
edly appeared,  thiui  a  very  marked  change  came  over 
Pere  Michel,  which  to  Claude  was  quite  inexplicahle. 
To  him  and  to  Zac  the  good  ])riest  had  thus  far  seemed 
everything  that  was  most  amiable  and  companionable  ; 


■k 


A'  TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


37 


all  this  in 

)  followed, 
11  ol'  tlieiii 
the  virtual 
Ted  it  I'or 
lie  seemed 
■1.11(1  eiiter- 
ieily  grjitc- 
to  include 
Zac  came 
not undiT- 
ed  to  him, 
3re  driving 
th  the  ex- 


his  way  to 

Ic  to  resell 

LmI  tlie   cii'- 

ingness  to 

ouisbourg. 

lugli  they 

r.      They 

I  any  point 

10  against 

int  where 


K 


nncxpect- 
3ame  over 
jxplieahle. 
iir  seemed 


but  now,  ever  since  tlic  moment  wlien  lie  had  turned 
away  at  the  sight  of  the  iiice  of  Lahorde,  he  had  grown 
strangely  silent,  and  reticent,  and  self-absorbed.  Old 
Lahurdo  had  made  advances  which  had  been  coldly 
repelled.  Cazeneau,  also,  had  tried  to  draw  him  out, 
but  without  success.  To  the  lientenant  only  was  ho 
at  all  inclined  to  unbend.  Yet  this  strange  reserve 
did  not  last  long,  and  at  length  Pcre  Michel  regained 
his  old  manner,  and  received  iho  advances  of  Laborde 
with  sufficient  courtesy,  while  to  Minii  he  showed  that 
paternal  gentleness  which  had  already  endeared  him 
to  Claude  and  to  Zac. 

Several  days  thus  passed,  during  which  but  little 
progress  was  made.  The  schooner  seemed  rather 
to  drift  than  to  sail.  Wiienever  a  slight  breeze  would 
arise,  it  Avas  sure  to  be  adverse,  and  was  not  of  long 
duration.  Then  a  calm  wouhl  follow,  and  the  schooner 
would  lie  idle  upon  the  bosom  of  the  deep. 

During  these  days  .Mimi  steadily  regained  her 
strength  :  and  the  bloom  and  the  sprightliness  of  youth 
came  back,  and  the  roses  began  to  i-eturn  to  her 
cheeks,  and  her  wan  face  resumed  its  plumpness,  and 
her  eyes  shone  with  i\i(i  light  of  joyousness.  Within 
the  narrow  confines  of  a  small  schooner,  (.^aiule  was 
thrown  in  her  wa^'  more  frequently  than  could  have 
been  the  case  under  otlier  circumstances ;  and  the 
situation  in  which  they  were  placed  towards  one 
another  connected  them  more  closely,  and  formed  a 
bond  which  made  an  easy  way  to  friendship,  and  even 
intimacy.  As  a  matter  of  course,  Claude  found  her 
society  pleasanter  by  far  than  that  of  any  one  else  on 
board;  while,  on  the  other  hand,  Mimi  did  not  seem 
at  all  averse  to  his  comi)anionship.  She  seemed  de- 
sirous to  know  all  about  liini. 


Fi 


11 


t 


38 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


^'  But,  monsieur/'  she  said  once,  in  tlie  course  of  a 
conversation,  '^  it  seems  strange  to  me  that  you  have 
lived  so  long  among  the  English  here  in  America." 

"  It  is  strange,"  said  Claude  ;  "  and,  to  tell  the  trutli, 
I  don't  altogether  understand  myself  how  it  has  liap- 
pened." 

"  Ah,  you  don't  understand  yourself  how  it  has  hap- 
pened," repeated  Mimi,  in  a  tone  of  voice  that  was 
evidently  intended  to  elicit  further  confidences. 

"  No,"  said  Claude,  who  was  not  at  all  unwilling  to 
receive  lier  as  his  confidante.  "  You  see  I  was  taken 
away  from  France  when  I  ,»tis  an  infant." 

"  When  you  were  an  infant !  "  said  Mimi.  "  How 
very,  very  sad  !  "  and  saying  this,  slie  turned  her  eyes, 
with  a  look  full  of  deepest  commiseration,  upon  him. 
"  And  so,  of  course,  you  cannot  remember  anything  at 
all  about  France." 

Claude  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  nothing  at  all,"  said  he.  "  But  I'm  on  my  way 
there  now ;  and  I  hope  to  see  it  before  long.  It's  the 
most  beautiful  country  in  all  tlie  world  —  isn't  it  ?  ' 

"  Beautiful ! "  exclaimed  Mimi,  throwing  up  her 
eyes ;  ''  there  are  no  words  to  describe  it.  It  is 
heaven  !  Alas  !  how  can  I  ever  bear  to  live  here  in 
this  wild  and  savage  wilderness  of  America !  " 

"You  did  not  wish  to  leave  France  then?"  said 
Claude,  who  felt  touched  by  this  display  of  feeling. 

"  I !  "  exclaimed  Mimi ;  "  I  wish  to  leave  France  ! 
Alas,  monsieur  !  it  was  the  very  saddest  day  of  all  my 
life.  But  dear  papa  had  to  go,  and  I  do  not  know 
why  it  was.  lie  offered  to  let  me  stay ;  but  I  could 
not  let  him  go  alone,  for  he  is  so  old  and  feeble,  and  I 
was  willing  to  endure  all  for  his  sake." 


N 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


39 


urse  of  a 
you  lijivc 


irica 


?) 


the  tnitli, 
has  liap- 

;  has  Iiap- 
that  was 
es. 

villing  to 
*^as  taken 


.  "  How 
lier  eyes, 
[poll  hiin. 
ything  at 


my  way 
It's  the 
it?' 
up  her 
It  is 
here  in 

?"  said 

3ling. 

France  ! 
f  all  my 

it  know 
I  could 
5,  and  I 


"  What  part  of  France  did  you  live  in  ? "  asked 
Claude. 

"  Versailles." 

'*  That  is  where  the  court  is,"  said  Claude. 

''  Of  course,"  said  ^limi,  witli  a  smile.  "  But  how 
fiuiny  it  seems  to  hear  a  Frenchman  make  such  a  re- 
mark, and  in  such  an  uncertain  way,  as  though  he  did 
not  feel  quite  sure.  Why,  monsieur,  in  France  Ver- 
sailles is  everything;  Versailles  is  the  king  and  court. 
In  a  word,  monsieur,  Versailles  is  France." 

"  I  suppose  you  saw  very  much  of  tlie  splendor  and 
magnificence  of  tlie  court  ?  "  said  Claude. 

'''  I !  "  said  Mimi ;  "  splendor  and  magnificence  !  the 
court !  Mafoi,  monsieur,  I  did  not  see  any  of  it  at  all. 
In  France  young  girls  are  kept  close-guarded.  You 
have  lived  among  the  English,  and  among  tliem  I  have 
heard  that  young  girls  can  go  anywhere  and  do  any- 
thing. But  for  my  part  I  have  always  lived  most 
secluded  —  sometimes  at  school,  and  afterwards  at 
horn 


e. 


n 


"How  strange  it  is,"  said  Claude,  "  tliat  your  father 
should  leave  France,  when  he  is  so  old  and  feeble,  and 
take  you,  too,  and  come  to  tliis  wild  country ! " 

"0,  it  is  very  strange,"  said  Mimi,  "and  very  sad; 
and  1  don't  know  why  in  tlie  world  it  was,  for  he  will 
never  tell  me.  Sometimes  I  think  that  something  un- 
fortunate lias  happened,  wliich  has  made  him  go  into 
exile  this  way.  But  then,  if  that  were  so,  I  don't  see 
why  he  should  remain  in  Frencli  possessions.  If  his 
pohtical  enemies  have  driven  him  away,  he  would  not 
be  safe  in  Frencli  colonies ;  and  so  I  don't  know  why 
in  tlie  world  he  ever  left  home." 

"  Does  he  intend  to  remain  at  Loiiisbourg,  or  go  far- 
ther?" asked  Claude,  after  a  thoughtful  pause. 


f 


40 


THE  LILY  A  AD  THE   CJiOSS. 


"  I'm  aiire  I  don't  know,"  said  Mimi ;  '^  but  I  don't 
think  he  has  decided  yet.  It  is  just  as  if  he  was  look- 
ing for  something,  and  as  if  he  would  travel  about  till 
he  found  it ;  tliough  what  it  is  that  he  wants  I  can 
hardly  tell.  And  such,  monsieur,  is  our  mournlul 
position.  We  may  remain  at  Louisbourg  a  short  time 
or  a  long  time  :  it  depends  upon  circumstances.  We 
may  go  to  Quebec,  or  even  to  New  Orleans." 

"  New  Orleans  !  "  exclaimed  Claude. 

''Yes;  I  heard  him  hint  as  mucli.  And  lie  said, 
also,  that  if  he  did  go  as  far  as  that,  he  would  le^v^ 
me  at  Quebec  or  Louisbourg.  But  I  will  never  con- 
sent to  that,  and  I  will  go  witli  him  wherever  ho  goes." 

"  I  should  tliink  that  such  a  roving  life  would  make 
you  feel  very  unhappy." 

"  0,  no :  I  am  not  unhappy,"  said  Mimi,  cheerfully. 
"  I  should,  indeed,  feel  unhappy  if  I  were  left  behind 
in  France,  or  anywhere  else,  and  if  poor  papa  should 
go  roaming  about  without  any  one  to  care  for  him.  I 
am  not  much ;  but  1  know  that  he  loves  me  dearly, 
and  that  he  is  very  much  happier  with  me  than  with- 
out me.  And  that  is  iho.  reason  why  I  am  determined 
to  go  witli  him  wherever  he  goes,  —  yes,  even  if  he 
goes  among  iha  savages.  Besides,  while  I  am  with 
him,  he  has  a  certain  amount  of  anxiety  about  me,  and 
this  distracts  his  thoughts,  and  prevents  him  from 
brooding  too  much  over  his  own  personal  troubles. 
But  0,  how  I  envy  you.  Monsieur  Motier,  and  0,  how 
I  sliould  love  to  be  going  back  to  France,  if  dear  papa 
were  only  going  there  too!  I  shall  never  be  happy 
again,  I  know,  never,  till  I  am  back  again  in  France." 


II 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


41 


[  don't 

IS  look- 
out till 
i  I  ciin 
ouriiiul 
I't  tiiiio 
ri.     We 


CHAPTER  IV. 


M I M  I     AND     AI  A  R  Tx  0  T  . 


10  paid, 
1  Ic  v^ 
er  con- 
3  goes." 
d  make 

ierfully. 
behind 
should 

him.     I 
dearly, 
1  with- 
rmined 
n  if  he 
m  with 
me,  and 
n   from 
•oubles. 
0,  how 
ar  papa 
happy 


ance. 


ji 


WHILE  Claude  was  doing  tlic  honors  of  hospitality 
to  the  guests  aft,  tlie  crew  of  the  Parson  was 
fraternizing  witli  tlie  seamen  of  the  wrecked  Aretliuse, 
forward.  The  first  and  most  im])oi'tant  act  of  friendly 
intercourse  was  tlie  work  of  .Jericho,  wlio  put  forth  all 
his  skill  in  preparing  for  the  half-starved  sailors  a 
series  of  repasts  upon  which  he  lavished  all  his  genius, 
together  with  the  greater  part  of  the  stores  of  the 
schooner.  To  these  repasts  the  seamen  did  ample 
justice,  wasting  hut  little  time  in  unnecessary  words, 
hut  eating  as  only  those  can  eat  who  have  l)een  on 
the  borders  of  'starvation.  Yet  it  may  be  questioned 
whether  their  voracity  exceeded  that  of  a  certain 
melancholy  boy,  who  waited  on  the  bancpiet,  and 
whose  appetite  seemed  now  even  more  insatiable  in 
the  midst  of  the  abundant  supplies  which  Jericho 
produced,  than  it  had  been  in  former  days,  when 
eatables  had  been  less  choice  and  repasts  less  fre- 
quent. In  fact,  Biler  outdid  himself,  and  completely 
wore  out  the  patience  of  the  long-suifering  Jericho. 

''  You  jes  look  heali,  you  Bilcr,''  he  said ;  •'  you 
better  mind,  for  I  ain't  goin'  to  stand  dese  yer  goins 
on  no  longer.  Dar's  limits  to  eberyting  —  and  dese 
yer  'visiums  has  got  to  be  'commonized,  an'  not  to  be 


i 


!i 


i 


42 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


all  gobbled  up  by  one  small  l)oy.  Tell  yon  what,  I 
got  a  great  mind  to  put  you  on  a  lowns,  an'  gib  you 
one  rore  turnip  a  day,  an'  el'  you  can  ketcli  a  fish  I'll 
'gree  to  cook  it.  Why,  dar  ain't  do  vessel  afloat  dat 
can  stand  dis  yer.  You  eat  fiCty-nine  meals  a  day, 
an'  more.  You  nebber  do  notin'  else  but  eat  —  morn', 
noon,  an'  night." 

"  Arrah,  Jerry,  let  the  b'y  ate  his  fill,"  said  Terry: 
"  sure  an'  a  growin'  b'y  has  to  ate  more'n  a  grown  man, 
so  as  to  get  flesh  to  grow  wid." 

"  Can't  do  it,"  said  Jerry,  '^  an'  won't  do  it.  Didn't 
mind  it  so  much  afore,  but  now  we'se  got  to  'commo- 
nize.  Dar's  ebl)er  so  many  more  mouf's  al)oard  now, 
an'  all  on  'em  eat  like  sin.  Dis  yer  calm  keeps  us  out 
lieah  in  one  spot,  an'  when  we're  ebber  a  goin'  to  get 
to  de  end  ov  do  vyge's  more'n  I  can  tell.  No  use 
frowin'  away  our  val'ble  'visiums  on  dis  yer  boy  — 
make  him  eat  soap  fat  and  oakum — good  enough  for 
him.  No  'casium  for  him  to  be  eatin'  a  hundred  times 
more'n  all  de  res  ob  us.  If  he  wants  to  eat  he'll  hab 
to  find  his  own  Visiums,  an'  ketch  a  shark,  an'  I'll  put 
it  in  pickle  for  he  own  private  use." 

With  these  words  Jericho  turned  away  with  deep 
trouble  and  perplexity  visible  on  his  ebon  brow,  and 
Biler,  pocketing  a  few  potatoes  and  turnips,  climbed  to 
the  mast-head,  where  he  sat  gazing  in  a  melancholy 
way  into  space. 

To  Terry  these  new  comers  were  most  welcome. 
At  a  distance  he  professed  to  liate  ani  despise  tbe 
French  ;  but  now  that  they  appeared  face  to  face,  his 
hate  was  nowhere,  and  in  its  place  there  was  nothing 
but  a  most  earnest  desire  to  form  an  eternal  friendship 
with  the  shipwrecked  seamen.     There  was  certainly 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


43 


what,  1 
pi)  you 
fisli  rii 

uat  (lilt 
<i  (lay, 


-inurn 


Terry : 


n\  man 


Didn't 
?omino- 
•d  now, 
;  lis  out 
'  to  get 
No  nso 

boy  — 
igli  for 
d  times 
11  hab 
ril  put 

li  deep 

)w,  and 

ibed  to 

nclioly 


Icome. 
so  tlie 


lee,  liis 
lothing 
ndship 
rtainly 


one  difficulty  in  the  way  wliieli  was  of  no  sliglit  cliar- 
acter ;  and  tliat  was,  that  neither  of  them  knew  the 
language  of  the  otiier.  But  Teriy  was  not  easily 
daunted,  and  tlie  very  presence  of  a  difficulty  was 
enough  to  make  him  feel  eager  to  ti'iuni))h  over  it. 

In  his  first  approaches  lie  made  the  very  common 
mistake  of  addressing  the  French  sailors  as  though 
they  were  deaf.  Thus  he  went  up  to  them  one  after 
the  other,  shaking  hands  Avith  each,  and  shouting  in 
their  cars  as  loud  as  he  could,  ^^  How  do  ycz  do?^^ 
"  Good  day.-^  "  The  top  av  the  mornbt^  to  v/e;2."  To 
which  the  good-natured  Frenchmen  responded  in  a 
sympathetic  way,  sliaking  his  hand  vigorously,  and 
grinning  and  chattering.  Terry  kept  this  up  for  some 
time;  but  at  length  it  became  somewhat  monotonous, 
and  ho  set  his  wits  to  work  to  try  to  discover  some 
more  satisfactory  mode  of  effecting  a  communication 
with  them.  The  next  way  that  he  thought  of  was 
something  like  the  first,  and,  like  the  first,  is  also  fre- 
quently resorted  to  by  those  who  have  occasion  to 
speak  to  foreigners.  It  was  to  address  them  in 
broken  English,  or  rather  in  a  species  of  baby  talk; 
for  to  Terry  it  seemed  no  moie  than  natural  that  this 
sort  of  dialect  would  be  move  intelligible  than  the 
speech  of  full-grown  men. 

Accordingly,  as  soon  as  Terry  thought  of  this,  ho 
put  it  in  practice.  He  began  by  shaking  hands  once 
more,  and  then  said  to  them,  "  Me  berry  glad  see  you 
—  mo  sposy  you  berry  hundy.  Polly  want  a  cracker. 
lie  sail  hab  penty  mate  den,  so  he  sail.  Did  do 
naughty  water  boos  um  den?" 

T>ut  unfortunately  this  effort  proved  as  much  of  a 
failure  as  the  other;  so  Terry  was  once  more  com- 


I 


i     t 


m 


:  I    1 


!i  f 

I: 


an  !• 


44 


7'//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


pcllod  to  trust  to  Ill's  wits.  Tliosc  wits  of  his,  being 
active,  (lid  not  fail,  indeed,  to  sii^'gest  inany  wa3^s, 
and  of  tlie  l)est  kind,  \\y  wln"eli  lie  hrouglit  Iiiniself 
into  coniniunieation  with  his  new  iViends.  At  the 
iirst  i'e])ast  he  found  tliis  out,  and  insisted  upon  pass- 
injj;  everytliing  to  them  with  liis  own  hands,  accom- 
panying each  friendly  oiler  with  an  all'ectionate  smile, 
which  went  straight  to  the  hearts  of  the  forlorn  and 
hall-starved  guests.  This  was  a  language  which  was 
every  way  intelligihlo,  the  language  of  universal  hu- 
manity, in  which  the  noblest  precept  is,  to  be  kind  to 
enemies  and  to  feed  the  hungry. 

In  addition  to  this,  Terry  also  found  out  other  ways 
of  holding  communication  with  them,  the  chief  of 
which  was  by  the  language  of  song.  Terry's  irre- 
pressihle  tendency  to  singing  tlius  burst  forth  in  their 
presence,  and  after  trolling  out  a  few  Irish  melodies, 
he  succeeded  in  eliciting  fj-om  them  a  sympathetic 
response  in  the  shape  of  some  lively  French  songs. 
The  result  proved  most  deliglitful  to  all  concerned  ; 
and  thereafter  the  muse  of  Ireland  and  the  muse  of 
France  kept  up  a  jiei'petual  anti phonal  song,  which 
beguiled  many  a  tedious  hour. 

AVhile  the  various  characters  on  board  the  schoon- 
er were  thus  enterinii:  into  connnunication  with  one 
another,  Zac  endeavored  also  to  scrape  an  acquaint- 
ance with  one  of  the  rescued  party,  who  seemed  to 
him  to  be  worth  all  the  rest  put  together.  This  was 
Mimi's  maid,  ^largot,  a  beautiful  little  creature,  full 
of  life  and  s})irit,  and  lit  companion  for  such  a  mistreas 
as  hers.  The  good  little  Margot  was  very  accessible, 
and  had  not  failed  to  pour  forth  in  language  not  very 
intelligible  her  sense  of  gratitude  to  Zac.     She  had 


I'l 


A    TALE   OF  ACAD/ A. 


45 


3,  being 
y  ways, 
liimsolf 
At   tiio 

jiccom- 
j  smile, 
orii  and 
licli  was 
rsal  Un- 
kind to 


er  ways 
•liief  of 
^'s  irre- 
in  tlieir 
lelodies, 
pathetic 
1  songs, 
cerned ; 
mnse  of 
which 

schoon- 
ni\\  one 
cqnaint- 
med  to 
his  was 
ure,  fnll 
Tiistreas 
essible, 
lot  very 
5he  had 


not  forgotten  tliat  it  wns  Zao  wlio  liad  con.  •.  ed  licr 
in  his  strong  ai'ins  from  (knitli  to  life,  and  tlieref-'o 
persisted  in  regarding  liim  not  only  as  tlie  i)reserver 
of  lier  own  self,  but  as  the  real  and  only  preserver  of 
all  the  others. 

jMargot  had  one  advantage  which  was  deliglitful 
to  Zac  ;  and  that  was,  she  could  si)oak  a  little  Knglish. 
She  had  once  spent  a  year  in  England,  wliere  slie  had 
picked  up  enough  of  the  language  to  come  and  go 
upon,  and  this  knowledge  now  proved  to  bo  of  very 
great  advantage. 

The  calm  weather  which  continued  gave  Zac  many 
opportunities  of  drifting  away  towards  Margot,  and 
talking  with  her,  in  which  talks  they  gradually  grew 
to  be  better  acquainted. 

"  I  am  so  happy  zat  I  spik  Tngelis  ! "  said  Margot ; 
"  I  novar  did  sink  dat  it  was  evare  useful." 

"  An'  pooty  blamed  lucky  it's  ben  for  me,  too,"  said 
Zac,  in  a  joyous  tone ;  ''  for  as  I  don't  know  French, 
like  Claude  over  there,  1  have  to  trust  to  you  to  keep 
up  the  conversation." 

'^  I  not  know  mooch  Ingelis,"  said  Margot,  '^  for  I 
not  understan  de  moocli  of  what  you  say." 

*' 0,  you'll  learn  dreadful  fast  out  here,"  said  Zac. 

"  But  I  not  weesh  to  stay  here  so  long  as  to  learn," 
said  Margot. 

''  Not  wish  !  Sho,  now  !  Why,  it's  a  better  country 
than  France." 

"Than  France  —  better!"  cried  Marg(_)t,  lifting 
her  hands  and  throwing  up  her  eyes  in  amazement. 
"  France  !  Monsieur,  France  is  a  heaven  —  mais  — 
dees  —  dees  —  is  different." 

"Why,  what's  the  matter  with  America?"  said  Zao 


II  * 


I' 

V.     ' 

;i| 


1:    1 


!| 

1  i ' 

.i  'ill 

■       i! 

'! 

li 

1     : 

i  1 


46 


T//E  IJL  Y  AND   THE   CROSS, 


"  Am(3riqiic  —  cot  ccs  jill  lull  of  do  sauvago  —  do 
Indian  —  do  wild  men  —  an'  wild  beasts — an'  desert." 

^H),  you  ain't  ben  to  Boston;  that's  clar,"  said 
Zac,  mildly.  "  Jest  you  wait  till  you  see  Boston ; 
that's  all." 

'•''  Boston !  I  nevaro  hear  of  Boston,"  said  IMargot, 
'•'-  till  you  tell  me.  I  do  not  believe  eet  it  is  more  mag- 
nifique  dan  Paris." 

''  The  most  magnificent  town  in  tlie  hull  world,"  said 
Zac,  calmly.  "  You  take  tlie  House  of  Assembly  an' 
Govement  House  —  take  King  Street  and  Queen 
Street,  an'  I'd  like  to  know  whar  you'll  find  a  better 
show  any  whar  on  airth." 

"  Sais  pas,"  said  Margot ;  "  nevaro  see  Boston.  Mais 
vous  —  you  nevare  see  Paris  —  so  we  are  not  able  to 
compare." 

"  0,  well,  it's  nat'ral  enough  for  you,"  said  Zac,  with 
magnanimity,  "  nat'ral  enough  for  you,  course,  to  like 
your  own  place  best  —  'twouldn't  bo  nat'ral  ef  you 
didn't.  All  ^our  friends  live  tliar,  course.  You  were 
born  thar,  and  I  s'pose  your  pa  an'  ma  may  be  there 
now,  anxiously  expectin'  to  hear  from  you." 

Zac  put  this  in  an  interrogative  way,  for  he  wanted 
to  know.  But  as  he  said  these  words,  the  smiling 
face  of  Margot  turned  sad ;  she  shook  her  head,  and 
said,  — 

"  No ;  I  have  no  one,  no  one  !  " 

"  What !  no  relatives  !  "  said  Zac,  in  a  voice  full  of 
conmiiseration  and  tender  pity. 

Margot  shook  her  head. 

"  An'  so  you've  got  no  father  nor  mother,  an'  you're 
a  poor  little  orphan  girl ! "  said  Zac,  in  a  broken  voice. 

Margot  shook  her  head,  and  looked  sadder  than  ever. 


M 


A    TALE   OF  ACAD/A. 


47 


Tears  came  to  Zac'a  eyes.  Ho  felt  as  he  had  never 
felt  before.  There  was  sometliinp^  so  inexpressibly 
touching  al)ont  tliis  orplian  !  He  took  her  little  hand 
tenderly  in  his  own  great,  hrc^'n,  toil-worn  fist,  and 
looked  at  her  very  Avistfnlly.  For  a  few  moments  ho 
said  nothing.  Margot  looked  npat  him  with  lier  great 
brown  eyes,  and  then  looked  meekly  at  the  deck.  Zac 
heaved  a  deep  sigh  ;  tlicn  ho  phiced  his  disengaged 
hand  solenmly  npon  her  head. 

*'  Wal,"  said  he,  gravely,  "  Til  protect  you.  Ef  any- 
body ever  harms  you,  you  jest  come  to  me.  I'll  —  I'll 
be  —  a  father  to  you." 

Again  Margot  looked  up  at  him  with  her  great 
browi.   jyes. 

"  0,  dat's  noting,"  slie  said.  '^  I  don't  want  you  to 
be  my  fader.  But,  all  de  same,  I  tink  you  one  very 
nice  man ;  an'  you  safe  my  life ;  an'  I  sail  not  forget 
• — nevjire  ;  an'  I  weesh — .  Sail  I  tell  you  what  I 
wecsh  ?  " 

'^  Yes,  yes,"  said  Zac,  eagerly,  with  a  strange  thrill 
of  excitement. 

JMargot  threw  a  quick  look  around. 

"  Dees  Monsieur  do  Cazencau,"  said  she,  drawing 
nearer  to  Zac,  and  s])eakijig  in  a  low,  quick  voice,  "  I 
'fraid  of  lieem.  Dere  is  danjfiire  for  my  mademoiselle, 
lie  is  a  bad  man.  He  liaf  a  plot  —  a  plan.  You  moos 
sail'  us.  Dees  Monsieur  Metier  is  no  good.  You 
haf  safe  us  from  death ;  you  moos  safe  us  from  dees 
danjaire." 

"  Ilow  ?  "  asked  Zac,  who  took  in  at  once  the  mean- 
ing of  Margot's  words,  though  not  fully  understanding 
them. 

''  I  will  tell.     Dess  Monsieur  de  Cazeneau  wish  to 


TTi 


48 


Till':    I. II A    AM)    Till':   CROSS. 


SI; 


got  US  to  Loiiislxiiir^',  wlicrc  lie  will  iMiiii  us  all  —  dut 
is,  do  olc  couut  and  do  niadciuoisi.'llo.  You  moos  tuin 
al)()ut,  and  taku  us  to  Hostou.'' 

"  'I'ako  you  to  Hostou  !  Uut  this  scIiooult  is  eupigcd 
to  ^o  to  Louishourj;"  with  Mr.  Moticr." 

]\rarp)t  shook  hor  hojid. 

'•  ^'ou  moos  do  it,"  said  she, '^  or  wo  sail  Ix;  ruin. 
Yoa  moos  toll  Monsieur  Moticr — " 

Zac  now  hogaii  questionionjj,-  licr  furtlior;  l)ut  Mar;j;ot 
could  not  remain  any  longer;  she  therefore  hurrie(l 
away,  witii  the  i)romise  to  see  him  a^ain  and  explain 
more  al)out  it;  and  Zac  was  lel't  alone  witii  his  own 
tliouf»"lits,  not  knowing  exaetly  what  he  could  say  to 
Claude,  or  how  he  could  make  up,  out  of  ^lar^-ot's 
scanty  information,  a  story  whidi  juiii-ht  olfer  suflieicnt 
ground  for  a  (;hani[;"e  in  tho  [)urpose  of  tlie  voyage. 

Meanwliile  Claude  had  se(>n  Mimi  at  various  times, 
and  had  conversed  witii  her,  as  l)elore,  in  a  very  con- 
fidential maimer.  The  danger  of  which  Margot  had 
s])()ken  was  present  in  Mimi's  thoughts,  also;  and  she 
was  anxious  to  secure  Claude's  assistance. 

Thus  i*  that  Mimi  communicated  to  Claude  all 

altout  ^)crsonal    alfaii's.      There    was    something 

almr  .nldish  in  this  ready  communicativeness ;  hut 
she  knew  no  reason  for  concealing  anything,  and  there- 
fore was  thus  franlv  and  outspok(m.  Claude,  also,  was 
quite  as  willing  to  tell  all  about  himself;  tliough  his  own 
story  was  somewhat  more  involved,  and  could  not  he 
told  i)iecemeal,  hut  required  a  longer  and  more  olah- 
orato  explanation. 

*'  Have  you  many  friends  in  Franco?"  asked  Mimi,  in 
an  abrupt  sort  of  way,  the  next  time  they  mot. 

"  Friends  in  France  ? ' '  repeated  Claude  J  "  not  one, 
that  I  know  of." 


A    TALK  OF  AC  AD/A. 


49 


^' No  frionds  !  'I'lion  wliiit  cmm  yon  <1()  tlierc?"sli3 
{iskcul,  iiiiiocciitly. 

'^  Wi'll,  1  don't  know  yet,"  said  lie.  "  I  will  -jco 
when  I  ^ct  tlioro.  Tlic  fact  is,  1  am  p»in^  tlicri'  to  lind 
out  soniL'tliing-  about  my  own  liimily  —  my  })ar('nts  and 
niyscir." 

At  this  Mimi  i'astencd  her  largo  cyos  upon  Claude 
with  intense  interest. 

"  How  stran^cdy  you  talk  !  "  said  slio. 

"  I'll  tell  you  ii  seeret,"  said  Claude,  al'ter  a  jkiuso. 

"What?''  slie  asked. 

"  You  will  ncn'er  tell  it  \o  anyone?  It's  very  im- 
portant." 

''  I  tell  it  ?  "  repeated  Mimi ;  '^  I  !  Never.  Of  coursc- 
not.     So,  now,  wluit  is  the  seeret  ?  " 

"  Well,  it's  this:  my  name  is  not  Motier." 

"  Well,"  said  Mimi,  "  I'm  sure  I'm  vei-y  .dad  that  it 
isn't ;  and  it  seemed  stran,t;-e  when  you  told  me  h'rst, 
for  Motier  is  a  ])lel)eian  name;  and  you  eertainly  are 
no  plebeian." 

"  I  am  not  a  plebeian,"  said  Claude,  proudly.  '^  You 
arc  ri^'ht.  My  name  is  (me  of  the  nob  est  in  Franco. 
I  wonder  if  you  can  tell  me  what  \  want  to  know  !" 

"  I !  Why,  how  can  T  ?  "  said  Mimi.  "  J^ut  1  sliouhl 
so  like  to  knoAv  wliat  it  is  that  you  want  to  know  ! 
And  0,  monsieur,  I  sliould  so  love  to  know  what  is 
your  real  name  and  family ! " 

"AVell,"  said  Claude,  'M  don't  as  yet  know  much 
about  it  myself  But  I  do  know  what  my  real  name  is. 
I  am  the  Count  de  ^hmtresor." 

"  Montresor,''  exclaimed  jMimi,  ''  Montresor !  " 

As  she  said  this,  there  was  an  evident  agitation  in 
her  voice  and  manner  which  did  not  vscape  Claude. 


•^fi 


50 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


'' Wliat's  tlic  matter?"  said  lie.  "You  know  somo- 
tliing.     Tell  me  what  it  is !  0,  tell  me  I  " 

]Mimi  looked  at  him  very  earnestly. 

"  1  don't  know,"  said  slie ;  "  I  don't  know  anything 
at  all.  I  only  know  tliis,  tliat  poor  papa's  troubles  are 
connected  in  scmie  way  Avitli  some  one  whose  name  is 
Montresor.  But  h' .  troubles  are  a  thing-  that  1  am 
afraid  to  speak  about,  and  therefore  1  have  never 
fouad  out  anything  about  them.  So  I  don't  know 
anything  al)out  Montresor,  more  than  this.  And  the 
trouble  is  somctliing  terrible,  1  know,"  continued 
Mimi,  "  f(U'  it  has  forced  him,  at  liis  time  of  life,  to 
leave  his  home  and  become  an  exile.  And  I'm  afraid 
—  tliat  is,  I  imagine  —  that  he  himself  luts  done  some 
wrong  in  his  early  life  to  some  Montresor.  15ut  I'm 
afraid  to  ask  him;  and  I  tliink  now  tliat  the  sole  object 
of  his  journey  is  to  atone  for  this  wrong  that  he  has 
done.  And  0,  monsieur,  now  that  you  tell  your  name, 
now  that  you  say  how  you  liave  been  living  here  all 
your  life,  I  have  a  fearful  suspicion  that  my  papa  has 
been  the  cause  of  it.     Montresor  !     How  strange  !  " 

Mimi  was  very  much  agitated;  so  nmch  so,  indeed, 
that  (^laude  repented  having  told  licr  this.  But  it  was 
now  too  kite  to  repent,  and  lie  could  only  try  to  find 
some  way  of  remedying  the  evil. 

"  Suppose  I  go  to  your  father,"  said  he,  "  and  tell 
him  who  I  am,  and  all  about  myself." 

"  No,  no,"  cried  Mimi,  earnestly ;  "  do  not !  0,  do 
not !  1  would  not  have  you  lor  worlds.  My  hope  is, 
that  he  may  give  up  his  search  and  go  home  again, 
and  find  peace.  Tliere  is  nothing  tliat  you  can  do. 
What  it  is  that  troubles  him  I  don't  know;  but  it  was 
something  that  took  place  before  you  or  I  were  born 


% 


Hi 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


51 


—  many,  many  years  ago.  You  can  do  nothing.  You 
would  only  trouble  him  the  more.  If  he  has  done 
wrong  to  you  or  yours,  you  would  only  make  his  re- 
iiiorso  tlie  worse,  for  he  would  see  in  you  one  whom 
his  acts  have  made  an  exile." 

'' 0,  nonsense  ! "  said  Claude,  clieerilv;  "I  haven't 
been  anytliing  of  tlie  kind.  For  my  part,  I've  lived  a 
very  happy  life  indeed  ;  and  it's  only  of  late  that  I 
found  cmt  my  ,-eal  name.  I'll  tell  you  all  about  it 
some  tone,  and  then  you'll  understand  better.  As  to 
anybody  feeling  remorse  about  my  life,  that's  all  non- 
sense.  I  consider  my  life  rather  an  enviable  one  thus 
far." 

At  this  Mimi's  agitation  left  her,  and  slie  grew  calm 
agam.  Slie  looked  at  Claude  with  a  glance  of  deep 
gratitude,  and  said, — 

"0,  liow  glad,  liow  very  glad,  I  am  to  hear  y(m  sav 
that !  Perliaps  y„u  may  be  able  yet  to  tell  that  to  my 
dear  papa.  But  still,  I  do  not  wisli  you  to  say  an/- 
tinng  to  lum  at  all  till  I  may  had  some  time  when  vou 
may  do  it  safely.  An.l  you  will  promise  me  — will 
you  not?  — that  you  will  keep  this  a  secret  from  him 
till  he  is  able  to  l)ear  it." 

"^  Promise  ?     Of  course,"  said  Claude. 
^  She  held  out  her  hand,  and  Claude  took  it  and  car- 
ried It  to  his  lips.     They  had  been  sitting  at  the  bows 
of  the  schooner  during  this  conversation.     No  one  was 
near,  and  they  had  been  undisturbed. 


52 


THE  LILY  AND  THE  CROSS. 


CHAPTER  V. 


A  STRANGE   REVELATION. 


THE  old  Count  Lal)()r(lu  liad  Ijcgu  too  mucli  woak- 
oucd  by  siil'ibriiijj;'  and  j)rivati(»n  to  recover  very 
rapidly.  For  a  lew  days  lie  spent  most  of  liis  time  re- 
clining upon  a  eoueli  in  the  little  cabin,  whei'e  Minii 
devoted  herself  to  him  with  the  tenderest  (^are.  At 
times  she  would  come  upon  deck  at  the  urgent  request 
of  her  father,  and  then  Clau<le  would  devote  himself  to 
her  with  still  more  tender  care,  'i'he  old  man  did  not 
take  much  notice  ol' surrounding  tilings,  lie  lay  most 
of  the  time  with  his  eyes  closed,  in  a  half-dreamy  state, 
and  it  was  only  with  an  eflbrt  that  he  was  able  to 
rouse  liimself  to  s])eak.  He  took  no  notice  whatever 
of  any  one  but  his  daughter.  Cazeneau  made  several 
efforts  to  engage  his  attention,  but  he  could  not  be 
roused. 

Thus  tlierc  were  short  intervals,  on  successive  days, 
when  Claude  was  able  to  devote  liimself  to  Mimi,  for 
the  laudable  purpose  of  beguiling  the  time  which  he 
thouglit  nnist  hang  heavy  on  lier  hiuids.  He  consid- 
ered that  as  he  was  in  some  sort  the  master  of  the 
schooner,  tliese  strangers  wxm'c  all  his  guests,  and  he 
was  therefore  bound  by  the  sacred  laws  of  hospitality  to 
make  it  as  pleasant  for  them  as  possible.  Of  course, 
also,  it  was  necessary  that  he  should  exert  his  hospita- 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


53 


ble  powers  most  cliiofly  for  the  benefit  of  tlie  lady  ;  and 
this  necessity  lie  followed  up  with  very  great  spirit 
and  assiduity. 

By  tlie  conversation  wliicli  lie  had  already  had  with 
her,  it  will  he  seen  that  they  had  made  rapid  advances 
towards  intimacy.  Claude  was  eager  to  extend  this 
advance  still  farther,  to  take  her  still  more  into  his 
confidence,  and  induce  her  to  take  him  into  hers.  He 
was  very  eager  to  tell  her  all  about  himself,  and  the 
nature  of  his  present  voyage  ;  he  was  still  more  eager 
to  learn  from  her  all  that  she  might  know  about  the 
Montresor  family.  And  thus  lie  was  ever  on  the  look- 
out for  her  appearance  on  deck. 

These  appearances  were  not  so  frequent  as  he  de- 
sired;  but  Mimi's  devotion  to  her  father  kept  her  be- 
low most  of  the  time.  At  such  times  Claude  did  the 
agreeable  to  the  other  passengers,  with  varying  suc- 
cess. With  the  lieutenant  he  succeeded  in  ingratiating 
himself  very  rapidly  ;  but  with  Cazeneau  all  his  efforts 
proved  futile.  There  was  about  this  man  a  sullen  re- 
serve and  hauteur  which  made  conversation  difKcult 
and  friendshi])  impossible.  Claude  was  full  of  bon- 
homie, good-nafui'e  generally,  and  socialu'lity ;  but 
Cazeneau  was  more  than  he  could  endure;  so  that, 
after  a  few  attempts,  he  retired,  baffled,  vexed  at  what 
he  considered  the  other's  aristocratic  pride.  What 
was  more  noticed  by  him  now,  was  the  fact  that 
Pore  Michel  had  grown  more  reserved  with  him; 
not  that  then^  was  any  visible  changx;  in  the  good 
priest's  friendly  manner,  but  he  seemed  pre-occu- 
pied  and  strangely  self-absorbed.  And  so  things 
went  on. 

Meantime  the   sc^hoonci'  can  hardly  be  said  to  have 


I 


54 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


lii 


gone  on  at  all.  What  with  liglit  head  winds,  and  cur- 
rents, and  calms,  her  progress  was  but  slow.  This 
state  of  things  was  very  irritating  to  Zac,  wlio  Ijcgan 
to  mutter  something  about  these  rascally  Moosoos 
bringing  bad  luck,  and  ''  he'd  be  darned  if  he  wouldn't 
like  to  know  where  in  blamenation  it  Avas  all  going  to 
end."  But  as  Claude  was  no  longer  so  good  a  listener 
as  he  used  to  be,  Zac  grew  tired  of  talking  to  empty 
space,  and  finally  held  his  peace.  The  winds  and  tides, 
and  the  delay,  however,  made  no  dilference  with 
Claude,  nor  did  it  interfere  in  the  slightest  with  his 
self-content  and  self-complacency.  In  fact,  he  looked 
as  though  he  rather  enjoyed  the  situation  ;  and  this 
was  not  the  least  aggravating  thing  in  the  surround- 
ings to  the  mind  of  the  impatient  skipper. 

Thus  several  days  passed,  and  at  length  Claude  had 
an  opportunity  of  drawing  Mimi  into  another  some- 
what protracted  conversation. 

"  I  am  very  much  obliged  to  you,"  said  Claude, 
gayly,  "  for  making  your  appearance.  I  have  been 
trying  to  do  the  agreeable  to  your  shipmate  Cazeneau, 
but  without  success.  Is  he  always  so  amiable  ?  and  is 
he  a  friend  of  yours  ?  " 

Mimi  looked  at  Claude  with  a  very  serious  expres- 
sion as  he  said  this,  and  was  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 

"  He  is  a  friend  of  papa's,"  said  she  at  last.  "  He 
came  out  with  us — " 

'^  Is  he  a  great  friend  of  yours  ?  "  asked  Claude. 

Mimi  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then  said, — 

"  No ;  I  do  not  like  him  at  all." 

Claude  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  Nor  do  I,"  said  he. 

"  Perhaps  I   am  doing  him  injustice,"   said   Mimi, 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


55 


lus, 


"  but  I  cannot  help  feeling  as  tliougli  he  i,s  in  some 
way  connected  with  dear  papa's  troubles.  I  do  not 
mean  to  say  tliat  he  is  the  cause  of  tb'-^i.  I  merely 
mean  that,  as  far  as  I  know  anytliing  about  th._.i,  it  is 
always  in  such  a  way  that  lie  seems  mixed  up  with 
them.  And  I  don't  tliink,  either,  that  liis  face  is  very 
much  in  his  favor,  for  there  i^^  nnetliing  so  harsh  and 
cruel  in  his  expression,  that  >  dways  wish  that  pai)a 
had  chosen  some  dilferent  kind  of  a  person  for  his 
friend  and  confidant." 

"Is  he  all  that?"  askvd  Claude. 

"  0,  I  suppos-  so,"  said  Minii.  "  Tlicy  have  secrets 
together,  and  make,  together,  plans  tliat  1  know  nothing 
about." 

"  Do  you  suppose,"  asked  Claude,  "  that  you  will 
ever  be  in  any  way  connected  witli  their  plans  ?  " 

He  put  this  question,  wliich  was  a  general  one,  in  a 
very  peculiar  tone,  which  indicated  some  deei)er  mean- 
ing. It  seemed  as  tliougli  Mimi  understood  him,  for  she 
threw  at  him  a  hurried  and  luilf-friglitened  look. 

"  Why?  "  she  asked.  ^'  What  makes  you  ask  such  a 
question  as  that  ?  " 

"0,  I  don't  know,"  said  Claude.  "The  thought 
merely  entered  my  mind  —  perhai)s  because  I  dislike 
him,  and  suspect  him,  and  am  ready  to  imagine  all 
kinds  of  evil  about  him." 

Mimi  regarded  him  now  with  a  yary  earnest  look, 
and  said  nothing  for  some  time. 

"  Have  you  any  recollection,"  she  asked,  at  length, 
"  of  ever  having  seen  liis  face  anywhere,  at  any  time, 
very  long  ago?" 

Claude  shook  his  head. 

"  Not  the  slightest,"   said  he.     "  I  never  saw  him  in 


66 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


all  my  life,  or  any  one  like  liiiii,  till  I  saw  him  on  the 
raft.    But  wliat  makes  you  ask  so  strange  a  question?" 

"  I  liardly  know,"  said  Mimi,  "  except  that  lie  seems 
so  in  papa's  confidence,  —  and  I  know  tliat  papa's  chief 
trouble  arises  from  some  alfair  tliat  he  iiad  witli  some 
Montresor,  —  and  I  tliought  —  well,  I'll  tell  you  what 
I  thought.  I  thought  that,  as  this  Montresor  had  to 
leave  France  —  that  perhaps  he  had  been  followed  to 
America,  or  souglit  after;  and,  as  you  are  a  meml)er 
of  that  family,  you  might  have  seen  some  of  those  who 
were  watching  the  family  ;  and  the  Count  de  Cazeneau 
seemed  to  be  one  Avho  might  be  connected  with  it. 
But  I'm  afraid  I'm  speaking  in  rather  a  c(Hifused  way; 
and  no  wonder,  for  1  hardly  know  what  it  is  that  I  do 
really  suspect." 

"  0,  I  nnderstand,"  said  Claude  ;  "  you  suspect  that 
my  father  was  badly  treated,  and  had  to  leave  France, 
and  that  this  man  was  at  the  bottom  of  it.  Well,  I  dare 
say  he  was,  and  that  he  is  quite  capable  of  any  piece 
of  villany  ;  but  as  to  his  hunting  us  in  America,  I  can 
acquit  him  of  that  cliarge,  as  far  as  my  experience 
goes,  for  I  never  saw  him,  and  never  heard  of  any  one 
ever  being  on  our  track.  ]>ut  can't  you  tell  me  some- 
ihing  more  definite  about  it?  Can't  you  tell  me  ex- 
actly what  you  know  ?  " 

Mimi  shook  her  head. 

''  I  don't  know  anything,"  said  she,  "  except  what 
little  I  told  you  —  that  poor  papa's  troultle  of  mind 
comes  from  some  wrong  Avhicli  he  did  to  some  Mon- 
tresor, wlio  had  to  go  to  America.  And  you  may  not 
be  connected  with  that  Montresor,  after  all ;  but  I'm 
afraid  you  must  be,  and  that  —  you  —  will  have  to  be 
— poor  papa's  —  enemy." 


if 


A   TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


57 


>> 


"  Never  !  "  said  Claude,  veliemeiitly  ;  "  never  !  not 
if  your  father —  Whatever  has  happened,  1  will  let 
it  pass  —  so  far  as  I  am  eoneerned." 

"  O,  you  don't  know  what  it  is  that  has  ha[)[)ened. 

"Neither  do  you,  for  that  matter;  so  there  now; 
and  for  my  pai't  i  don't  want  to  know ,  and  1  won't  try 
to  find  out,  if  you  think  I'd  better  not." 

"  I  don't  dare  to  think  anything  about  it ;  I  only 
know  tliat  a  good  son  has  duties  towards  his  parents, 
and  tliat  lie  must  devote  liis  life  to  thc^  vindieation  of 
their  honor." 

"  Undoubtedl}^,"  said  Claude,  placidly  ;  "  but  as  it 
happens  my  parents  have  never  eommunieat(Hl  to  me 
any  story  of  any  wrongs  of  theirs,  I  know  very  little 
about  tliem.  They  never  desired  tliat  1  should  inves- 
tigate their  lives  ;  and,  as  I  have  never  heard  of  any 
wrongs  wliieli  tliey  suHered,  1  don't  see  how  1  can  go 
about  to  vindicate  tlieir  honor.  I  liavc;,  l)y  the  merest 
chance,  come  upon  sometliing  wliicli  excited  my  curi- 
osity, and  made  me  anxious  to  know  something  more. 
I  have  had  no  deeper  feeling  tlian  curiosity  ;  and  if  you 
tliink  tliat  my  searcli  will  make  me  an  enemy  of  your 
fatlier,  I  hereby  give  up  tlic  search,  and  decline  to 
pursue  it  any  I'arther.  In  fact,  I'll  fall  back  upon  my 
old  name  and  rank,  and  become  ])lain  ('laude  Motier.'* 

Claude  tried  to  speak  in  an  off-hand  tone  ;  but  Ih^ 
assumed  indifference  could  not  conceal  the  deep  devo- 
tion  of  the  look  which  he  gave  to  jMimi,  or  the  pro- 
found emotion  which  was  in  his  licart.  It  was  for  her 
sake  that  he  thus  offered  to  I'clinquish  his  purpose. 
She  knew  it  and  felt  it. 

"  I'm  sure,"  said  she,  "  I  don't  know  what  to  say  to 
that.     I'm  afraid  to  say  anything.     I  don't  know  what 


! 


68 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


may  liappcn  yet;  yon  iriay  at  any  time  find  out  soinc- 
tliiug  which  would  hrcak  through  all  your  iudilU'rence, 
and  lill  you  with  a  thirst  lor  v(;Hgeaucc^  1  don't  knoW; 
and  you  don't  know,  what  may  bo  —  holbi'e  us.  So 
don't  make  any  rash  oilers,  Init  merely  do  as  1  asked 
you  before  ;  and  tiiat  is, —  whilo  i)a{)a  is  iicre,  —  re- 
frain from  mentioning  this  subject  to  him.  It  is  simply 
for  the  sake  of  his  —  his  peace  of  mind  —  and  —  and 
—  his  health.  I  know  it  will  excite  him  so  dread- 
fully—  that  I  tremble  for  the  result." 

''0,  of  course,"  said  Claude,  "1  i)r()mise,  as  I  did 
before.     You  needn't  be  at  all  afraid." 

"  Would  you  have  any  objection,"  she  asked,  after  a 
short  silence,  '*  to  tell  me  how  much  you  do  really 
know  ?  " 

"  Of  course  not,"  said  Claude,  with  his  usual  frank- 
ness. ''  I'll  tell  you  tlie  whole  story.  There  isn't 
much  of  it.  I  always  believed  myself  to  be  the  son  of 
Jean  Motier,  until  a  short  time  ago.  We  lived  near 
Boston,  a  place  that  you,  perhaps-  have  heard  of.  lie 
was  always  careful  to  give  me  the  best  education  that 
could  be  had  in  a,  colony,  and  particularly  in  all  the 
accomplishments  of  a  gentleman.  We  were  both  very 
happy,  and  lived  very  well,  and  I  called  Inm  father, 
and  he  called  me  son;  and  so  things  went  on  untd  a 
few  weeks  ago.  I  went  off  hunting  with  some  British 
ofHcers,  and  on  my  return  found  tlie  old  man  dying. 
The  shock  to  me  was  a  terrible  one.  At  that  time  I 
boli(ived  that  it  was  my  father  that  I  was  losing. 
What  made  it  woi-sc,  was  the  evident  fact  that  there 
was  something  on  his  mind,  something  that  he  waa 
longing  to  tell  mo ;  but  he  could  not  collect  his 
tlioughtri,  and  lie  could  only  speak  a  few  broken  words. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


59 


did 


iiig. 
[ere 

Ilia 
rds. 


lie  kept  muttering,  •  J/o/i  frcsor,  3'on  trrsor ; '  but  I 
thought  it  WHS  merely  some  loving  words  ut"  en- 
dearment to  me,  and  did  not  imagine  what  they 
really  meant.  Still  I  saw  that  there  was  something 
on  ids  mind,  and  that  he  died  witiiuut  being  able  to 
tell  it.-' 

Claude  paused  for  a  moment,  quite  overcome  by  his 
recollections,  and  Mimi's  large  dark  eyes  lilled  with 
tears  in  her  deep  sympathy  with  his  sorrows. 

"Well,"  said  Claude,  regaining  iiis  composure  with 
an  effort,  "  FU  go  on.  As  soon  as  lie  was  bui-ied  I 
began  to  search  the  pai)ers,  partly  tt)  see  how  the 
business  was,  and  how  1  was  situated  in  the  world  ; 
but  more  for  the  sake  of  trviuLi-  to  lind  out  wliat  this 
secret  could  be.  There  was  an  old  cal^inet  tilled  with 
papers  and  parcels,  and  here  I  began  my  search,  i^'or 
a  long  time  I  found  nothing  but  old  l)usiness  letters 
and  receipts  ;  but  at  last  1  found  some  religious  books 
—  with  a  name  written  in  them.  The  name  was  Louise 
de  Montresor.  Well,  no  sooner  had  1  seen  this  tlian 
I  at  once  recollected  the  words  of  my  father,  as  I 
supposed  him,  wliich  I  thought  words  of  endear- 
ment—  Monti'esor,  Montresor.  1  saw  now  that  it 
was  the  name  of  a  person  —  of  a  woman;  so  this  ex- 
cited me  greatly,  and  1  continued  the  search  with 
greater  ardor. 

"  After  a  while  I  came  to  a  drawer  in  whicli  was  a 
quantity  of  gold  coins,  amounting  to  over  a  hundred 
guineas.  In  this  same  drawer  was  a  gold  watch ;  on 
the  back  of  it  were  engraved  the  letters  L.  I).  M., 
showing  that  it  was  evidently  the  i)roperty  of  this 
Louise  de  Montresor.  A  gold  chain  was  connected 
with  it,  upon  which  was  fastened  a  seal.     On  this  was 


¥ 


60 


THE  IJLY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


engraved  a  grifTin  rampiiiit,  witli  tlio  motto,  Noblesse 
obllije. 

"  Well,  after  this  I  found  anotlior  drawer,  in  wlilcli 
were  several  lady's  ornairients,  ;vnd  among  tliem  was  a 
package  carefully  wrajjped  u]).  On  opening  it  I  iound 
the  miniature  portrait  of  a  lady,  and  this  lady  was  the 
same  Louise  de  Montresor,  for  her  name  was  written 
on  the  back." 

"  Have  you  it  now  ?  "  asked  Mimi,  with  intense  in- 
terest. 

"  Yes,"  said  ('laude  ;  "  and  I'll  show  it  to  you  some 
time.  ]>ut  I  have  sometliing  else  to  show  you  just 
now.  Wait  a  minute,  and  I'll  exi^ain.  After  1  found 
the  portrait,  I  Aveiit  on  scare) ling,  and  came  to  another 
package.  On  opening  this  1  found  some  ];)apers  wliich 
seemed  totally  diiferent  from  anything  I  had  seen  as 
yet.  The  ink  was  fadcul ;  tlio  writing  was  a  plain,  bold 
hand;  and  now  I'll  let  you  read  this  for  yourself;  and 
you'll  know  as  much  as  I  do." 

Saying  tliis,  Chiude  produced  from  his  pocket  a 
•paper,  wliicli  he  o[)ened  and  handed  to  Mimi.  It  was 
a  sheet  of  foolscap,  written  on  tlu'ce  sides,  in  a  plain, 
bold  hand.  The  ink  was  quite  faded.  As  Mimi  took 
tlie  paper,  her  hand  trem])led  with  excitement,  and 
over  her  face  there  came  a  sudden  anxious,  half-fright- 
ened look,  as  thougli  slie  dreaded  to  make  herself  ac- 
quainted with  the  contents  of  this  old  document. 

After  a  moment's  hesitation  slie  mustered  up  her 
resolution,  and  began  to  read.     It  was  as  follows :  — 


i  1 

It 

li  '^ 

ylji 

*'  Quebec,  June  10,  1725. 

"  Instructions  to  Jean  Metier  with  reference  to  my 
eon,  Claude  de  Montresor,  and  my  property. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


61 


and 


and 
I'right- 
slf  ac- 


1725. 

to  my 


"  As  I  do  not  know  liow  long  T  sliall  l>o  al)scnt,  I 
think  it  bettor  to  leave  directions  about  my  son,  which 
may  be  your  guide  in  tlie  event  of  my  deatli.  1  nuist 
stay  away  K)ng  enough  to  eiial»le  me  to  overcome  the 
grief  tliat  I  feel,  f^oiig,  long  indeed,  must  it  l>e  before 
1  shall  feel  able  to  settle  in  any  one  place.  The  death 
of  my  dearest  wife,  Louise,  has  left  me  desolate  beyond 
expression,  and  there  is  no  home  for  me  any  more  on 
earth,  since  she  has  gone. 

*'  1  have  pro{)crty  enougli  for  you  to  bring  uj)  Claudo 
as  a  gentleman.  1  wish  him  to  have  the  best  educa- 
tion whicli  he  can  get  in  the  coh)nies.  I  do  not  wish 
him  to  know  al)out  his  family  and  tlie  past  liistory  of 
his  unhappy  parents  until  he  shall  bo  old  enougli  to 
judge  for  himself.  In  any  case,  I  should  Avish  him 
not  to  think  of  France.  Let  him  content  himself  in 
America.  It  is  done.  In  France  there  is  no  redress. 
The  government  is  hopelessly  corrupt,  aud  there  is  no 
possibility  of  wrong  being  righted.  Besides,  the  hiws 
against  tlie  Huguenots  are  in  full  force,  and  lie  can 
never  live  with  his  mother's  enemies.  I  revere  the 
sacred  memory  of  my  ITuguenot  wife,  and  curse  the 
knaves  and  fanatics  who  wronged  her  and  cast  her 
out;  yet  I  thank  Gt)d  tliat  I  was  able  to  save  her  fi'om 
the  horrible  fate  that  awaited  lier. 

"  I  wish  my  son,  therefore,  to  know  notliing  of 
Franco,  at  least  until  he  shall  be  of  ago,  and  his  own 
master  ;  and  even  then  I  should  wish  him  never  to 
go  there.  Let  him  content  himself  in  the  colonies. 
For  how  could  he  ever  redeem  the  position  which  is 
lost?  or  how  could  he  hope  to  face  the  powerful  and 
unscrupulous  enemies  who  have  wrought  my  ruin ;  the 
false  friend  who  betrayed  me  ;  his  base  and  infernal 


TmF 


62 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS, 


accomplice  ;  tlie  uiigratef'iil  govcnmuMit  wliicli  did  flucli 
foul  wrong  to  a  loyal  sorvaiit  ?  All  is  lost.  Tlio  es- 
tates .arc  coiifiscatLMl.  Tile  unjust  deed  can  never  bo 
undone.  Let  my  son,  therefore,  i*esi^-n  liiniselr  to  fate, 
and  1)0  content  witli  the  position  in  whieii  he  may  find 
himself 

"  The  property  will  bo  suflicient  to  maintain  him  in 
comfort  and  independenee.  Here  he  will  have  all  that 
ho  may  want ;  here  the  ehureh  will  give  him  her  conso- 
lations without  bigotry,  or  fanaticism,  or  corruption,  or 
persecution.  lie  will  be  free  from  t)ie  vices  and  tcnup- 
tations  of  the  old  world,  and  will  have  a  hai)pier  fate 
than  that  of  his  unhapi)y  lather. 

'M!]u(;ene  de  Montresor." 

Another  paper  was  folded  up  with  this.  It  was 
written  in  a  dilferent  hand,  and  was  as  follows  :  — 

"Boston,  June  20,  1740. 

"  Count  Eugene  do  INFontresor  left  on  the  2d  July, 
1725,  and  has  never  since  been  heard  of  I  have  fol- 
lowed all  his  instructions,  with  one  exception.  It  was 
from  the  countess  that  I  lirst  heard  the  word  of  life,  and 
learned  the  truth.  The  [)riests  at  Quebec  gave  me  no 
peace ;  and  so  I  had  to  leave  and  come  here,  among 
a  people  who  are  of  another  nation,  but  own  and  hold 
my  faith — tlie  faith  of  tlie  pure  worship  of  Christ. 
The  ct)unt  wished  mc  to  bring  you  up  a  Catholic  ;  but 
I  had  a  higher  duty  than  his  will,  and  I  have  brought 
you  up  not  in  yoijr  father's  religion,  but  in  your 
mother's  faith.  Your  father  was  a  good  man,  though 
in  error.  He  has,  no  doubt,  long  since  rejoined  the 
saint  who  was  his  wife  on  earth  ;  and  I  know  that  the 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


ea 


spirits  of  your  fatlior  and  mother  smile  approvingly  on 

'^  If  I  (lie  l.eforo  I  tell  yon  all,  clear  Claude,  you  will 
see  this,  and  will  understand  that  I  did  my  duty  to 
your  parents  and  to  you  —  " 

Here  it  ended  abruptly.  There  was  no  name,  and 
it  was  evidently  unfinished. 


1) 


was 


1     '  ■ 

1   .' 

64 


7J/£  LILY  Ai\D   THE  CROSS, 


CHAPTER  VI. 


A   FRENCH   FRIGATE. 


I 


j  I 


i  TIMI  read  botli  papers  throngli  rapidly  and  breath- 
l-*J-  lessly,  and  liaving  finished  tliem,  she  read  them 
over  once  mure.  As  she  (inislied  the  second  reading, 
Claude  presented  to  her  in  silence  a  small  package. 
She  took  it  in  the  same  silence.  On  opening  it,  she 
saw  inside  a  miniature  portrait  of  a  lady  —  the  same 
one  which  Claude  had  mentioned.  She  was  young 
and  exquisitely  beautiful,  with  rich  dark  hair,  tliat 
flowed  luxuriantly  around  her  head  ;  soft  hazel  eyes, 
that  rested  with  inexpressible  sweetness  upon  the 
spectator  ;  and  a  gentle,  winning  smile.  This  face  pro- 
duced an  unwonted  impression  upon  Mimi.  Long  and 
eagerly  did  she  gaze  upon  it,  and  when,  at  length,  she 
handed  it  back  to  Claude,  her  eyes  were  moist  with 
tears. 

Claude  replaced  the  portrait  in  its  wrapper,  and 
then  restored  it,  witli  the  letters,  to  his  pocket.  For 
some  time  they  sat  in  silence,  and  tlien  Claude  said, — 

"  You  see  there  is  no  great  duty  laid  on  me.  Judg- 
ing by  the  tone  of  that  letter,  I  should  be  doing  my 
(Uity  to  my  father  if  I  did  not  go  to  France  —  and  if  I 
did  not  seek  after  anything." 

"  Ah  !  but  how  could  you  possibly  live,  and  leave 
all  this  unexplained  ?  " 


1 


pro- 
and 
she 

with 

,  and 

For 

|id,- 

Tudg- 

my 

if  I 

leave 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


65 


''  I  could  do  it  very  easily,"  said  Claude. 

''  You  don't  know  yourself." 

"  0,  yes,  1  could  :  1  could  live  very  easily  and  very 
happily  —  if  I  only  had  your  assistance." 

At  these  words,  which  were  spoken  in  a  h)w,  earnest 
voice,  full  of  hidden  meaning,  Minii  darted  a  rapid 
glance  at  Claude,  and  caught  his  eyes  fixed  on  her. 
Her  own  eyes  fell  hefore  the  fervid  eagerness  of  the 
young  man's  gaze,  a  ilusli  overspread  her  face,  and  she 
said  not  a  word.  Nor  did  Claude  say  anything  more 
just  then ;  but  it  was  rather  as  though  lie  felt  afraid 
of  having  gone  too  far,  for  he  instantly  changed  the 
subject. 

^'  I'm  afraid,"  said  he,  ^^  that  I  shall  not  be  able  to 
find  out  very  much.  You  canni^t  give  me  any  en- 
lightenment, and  there  is  nothing  very  precise  in  these 
papers.  The  chief  tiling  that  I  learned  from  them  was 
the  fact  that  Jean  Metier  was  not  my  fatiier,  but  my 
guardian.  Then  a  few  other  tilings  are  stated  wliich 
can  easily  be  mentioned.  First,  that  my  father  was 
the  Count  Eugene  de  Montresor;  then  that  he  was 
driven  to  exile  by  some  false  charge  which  he  did 
not  seem  able  to  meet ;  tlien,  that  his  estates  were 
confiscated  ;  then,  that  his  wife,  my  mother,  was  a 
Huguenot,  and  also  in  danger.  1  see,  also,  that  my 
father  considered  his  enemies  altogether  too  powerliil 
for  any  hope  to  renuiin  that  he  could  resist  tliom,  ;ui(! 
that  finally,  after  my  mother's  deatli,  lie  grew  weary 
of  the  world,  anu  went  away  somewliere  to  die. 

"  Now,  the  fact  that  he  lived  two  years  in  Quebec 
made  me  have  some  thouglits  at  first  of  going  there ; 
but  afterwards  1  recollected  how  long  it  had  been 
since  he  was  there,  and  it  seemed  quite   improbable 

6 


1 


J       ! 


66 


7'//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


that  I  should  find  any  one  now  wlio  could  tell  mo  any- 
thing about  him  ;  Avliilo,  if  I  went  to  France,  I  thouglit 
it  might  be  comparatively  easy  to  learn  tlie  cause  of 
his  exile  and  punisliment.  And  so,  as  I  couldn't  find 
any  vessels  going  direct  from  Boston,  I  concluded  to 
go  to  Louisbourg  and  take  ship  there.  I  thought  also 
that  I  might  find  out  something  at  Louisbourg  ; 
though  wliat  I  expected  I  can  hardly  say. 

''  You  spoke  as  though  you  supposed  tliat  tliis  Caze- 
neau  liad  something  to  do  with  my  father's  trouble. 
Do  you  think  that  his  present  journey  has  anything  to 
do  with  it  ?  Tliat  is,  do  you  think  he  is  coming  out 
on  the  same  errand  as  your  lather  ?  " 

''  I  really  do  not  know  Avliat  to  say  al)out  that.  I 
should  tliink  not.  I  know  tliat  he  has  some  office  in 
Louisbourg,  and  I  do  not  see  what  motive  he  can  have 
to  searcli  after  tlie  JMontresors.  I  believe  tliat  pfipa 
hopes  to  find  your  papa,  so  as  to  make  some  atonement, 
or  something  of  that  sort;  but  1  do  not  believe  tliat 
Cazeneau  is  capable  of  making  atonement  for  anything. 
I  do  not  believe  that  Cazeneau  has  a  single  good  qual- 
ity.    Cazeneau  is  my  father's  evil  genius." 

Mimi  spoke  these  words  with  much  vehemence,  not 
caring,  in  her  excitement,  whether  she  was  overheard 
or  not:  but  scarce  liad  she  uttered  them  than  she  saw 
emerging  from  the  forecastle  the  head  of  Cazeneau 
himself.  She  stop])ed  short,  and  looked  at  liim  in 
amazement  and  consternation.  He  bowed  blandly, 
and  coming  upon  deck,  walked  past  her  to  the  stern. 
After  he  had  passed,  Mimi  looked  at  Claude  with  a 
face  full  of  vexation. 

''  Wlio  could  have  supposed,"  said  she,  "  that  he  was 
80  near  ?     lie  must  have  heard  every  word  I  " 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


67 


i 


"Undoubtedly  he  did/'  said  Claude,  -  and  ],e  liad  a 
chance  of  verifying  tlie  old  adage  that  ^  listeners  never 
hear  good  of  themselves.'  " 

"0,  I  wish  you  would  be  on  your  guard!"  said 
Mimi,  m  real  distress.     -  It  makes  me  feel  very  anx- 

lOUS."  "^ 

She  threw  at  Claude  a  glance  so  full  of  tender  in- 
terest and  pathetic  appeal,  that  Claude's  playful  mood 
gave  way  to  one  of  a  more  sentimental  cliaracter;  and 
It  IS  quite  nnpossible  to  tell  what  lie  would  have  done 
or  said  had  not  Cazeneau  again  made  liis  appearance, 
on  his  way  back  to  the  forecastle. 

He  smiled  a  cold  smile  as  he  passed  them. 
"Charming  weather  for  a  tHe-a-tHe,  mademoiselle," 
said  he.  -  Parhleu  !  Monsieur  Metier,  I  don't  wonder 
you  don't  make  your  vessel  go  iaster.  1  quite  envy 
you;  but  at  present  I  must  see  about  my  fellows 
below  here." 

^  With  these  words  he  turned  away,  and  descended 
into  the  forecastle.  Mimi  also  turned  away,  and  Claude 
accompanied  her  to  the  stern. 

"  How  old  do  you  suppose  he  is  ? "  asked  Claude 
very  gravely.  ' 

"How   old?    What   a   funny    question!     Why    he 
must  be  nearly  fifty  ]jy  this  time." 

"  Fifty  !  "  exclaimed  Claude,  in  surprise. 


"  Yes. 


?) 


"  Why,  I  thought  he  was  about  thirty,  or  thirtv- 
five."  -^ 

"Well,  he  certainly  doesn't  look  over  forty;  ])ut  he 
IS  a  wonderfully  well-kei)t  man.  Even  on  tlie  'raft,  the 
ruhng  passion  remained  strong  in  the  very  presence 
of  death,  and   he  managed  to  keep  up   hi,  youthful 


f 


l< ' 


II 


68 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


appearance;  but,  I  know  tliatlie  is  almost,  if  not  quite, 
as  old  as  papa." 

''  Is  it  possible  ?  "  eried  Claude,  in  amazement. 

Mimi  turned,  and  witli  lier  iaee  close  to  Claude's, 
regarded  liim  witli  an  anxious  look,  and  spoke  in  a 
low,  liurried  voice  :  — 

'^  0,  be  on  your  guard  —  beware  of  liim.  Even  now 
he  is  engaged  in  some  plot  against  you.  I  know  it  by 
his  face.  That's  wliat  takes  liim  down  there  to  confer 
with  tlie  seamen.  lie  is  not  to  be  trusted.  He  is  all 
false  —  in  face,  in  figure,  in  mind,  and  in  heart.  lie 
knows  notliing  about  honor,  or  justice,  or  mercy.  He 
has  been  the  deadly  enemy  of  the  Ah)ntresors,  and  if 
he  finds  out  who  you  are,  he  will  be  y(mr  deadly 
enemy.  0,  don't  smile  that  way  !  Don't  despise  this 
enemy  !  Be  careful  —  be  on  your  guard,  I  entreat  you 
— for  my  sake  !  " 

These  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  hurried  whisper, 
and  the  next  moment  Mimi  turned  and  hastened  down 
into  the  cabin  to  her  father,  while  Claude  rem;iined 
there,  thinking  over  these  words.  Yet  of  them  all  it 
was  not  the  warning  contained  in  tliem  that  was  pres- 
ent in  his  memory,  but  rather  the  sweet  meaning  con- 
veyed in  those  last  three  words,  and  in  the  tone  in 
which  they  were  uttered  —  the  words/or  w//  sake! 

Out  of  his  meditations  on  this  theme  he  was  at 
length  aroused  by  an  exclamation  from  Zac.  Looking 
up,  he  saw  that  worthy  close  beside  him,  intently 
watching  something  far  away  on  the  horizon,  through 
a  glass. 

"  I'll  be  darned  if  it  ain't  a  French  frigate  !  " 

This  was  the  exclamation  that  roused  Claude.  lie 
at  once  returned  to  hiuiself,  an<l  turning  to  Zac,  ho 


\  : 


l^ll 


!  i 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


69 


ic 


at 


asked  Iiim  what  he  meant.  Zac  said  nothing,  but, 
handing  liim  i\\Q  spy-glass,  pointed  away  to  the  west, 
wliere  a  sail  Avas  visible  on  tlie  horizon.  Tliat  sail  was 
Jin  object  of  cnrions  inten^st  to  others  on  ])oard  ;  to 
the  lieutenant  and  seamen  oftlie  wrecked  vessel,  who 
were  staring  at  her  from  the  bows  ;  and  to  Ca/enean, 
who  was  with  them,  staring  with  equal  interest. 
Claudw  took  the  glass,  and  raising  it  to  liis  oye, 
examined  the  strange  sail  long  and  carefully,  but 
without  being  able  to  distinguish  anything  in  particu- 
lar about  her. 

''  What  makes  you  think  that  she  is  a  French  frig- 
ate?" he  asked,  as  he  handed  the  glass  back  to  Zac. 
"  I  cannot  make  out  that  she  is  French  any  more  than 
English." 

"  0,  I  can  tell  easy  enough,"  said  Zac,  "  by  the  cut 
of  her  jib.  Then,  too,  I  judge  l)y  her  course.  That 
there  craft  is  comin'  down  out  of  the  Bay  of  Fundy, 
which  the  Moosoos  in  their  lingo  call  Fonde  de  la  Jhiie. 
She's  been  up  at  some  of  tlie  French  settlements. 
Now,  she  may  be  goin'  to  Franco  — or  mayhap  she's 
goin'  to  Louisbourg  — an'  if  so  be  as  she's  goin'  to 
Louisbourg,  why,  1  shouldn't  wonder  if  it  nn"g]itn't  ])e 
a  good  idee  for  our  French  friends  here  to  go  al)()ard 
of  her  and  finish  their  voyage  in  a  vessel  of  tlieir  own. 
One  reason  wliy  Pd  rather  have  it  so  is,  that  1  don't 
altogether  like  the  manceuvrin's  of  tliat  French  count 
over  tliar.  He's  too  sly;  an'  he's  up  to  sometliin',  an' 
I  don't  fancy  bavin'  to  keep  up  a  eternal  watcli  agin 
him.  If  I  was  well  red  of  him  I  could  breatlie  freer; 
but  at  the  same  time  1  don't  altogether  relish  the  idee 
of  puttin'  myself  into  the  clutches  of  that  thar  frigate. 
It's  easy  enough  for  me  to  ke(!p  out  of  her  way;  but 


70 


THE  LILY  Ai\D    THE  CROSS. 


if  I  was  onco  to  get  under  her  guns,  tliar'd  be  an  end 
of  the  Parson.  This  here  count  ain't  to  be  trusted,  no 
how ;  an'  if  he  once  got  into  communication  witli  tliat 
there  frigate,  he'd  be  my  master.  An'  so  I'm  in  a 
reg'lar  quan-dary,  an'  no  mistake.  Darned  if  I  know 
what  in  the  blamenation  to  do  about  it." 

Zac  stopped  short,  and  looked  with  an  air  of  mild 
inquiry  at  Claude.  Claude,  on  his  part,  was  ratlier 
startled  by  Zac's  estimate  of  the  character  of  Cazeneau, 
for  it  cliimed  in  so  perfectly  with  Mimi's  opinion  that 
it  affected  him  in  spite  of  himself  But  it  was  only 
for  a  moment,  and  then  his  own  self-confidence  gained 
the  mastery. 


1  I 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


71 


CHAPTER  VII. 


CAUGHT   IN   A  TRAP. 

THE  schooner  was  now  directed  towards  tlie  stran- 
-^    ger,and  before  very  long  they  saw  that  her  course 
had  been  changed,  and  that  she  was  now  hearing  ,hnn, 
upon  theni.    Zae  stood  at  the  hehn  saying  nothing,  hut 
keepu,g  Ins  eyes  fixed  upon  the  frigate,  which  drew 
nearer  and  nearer,  till  finally  she  came  near  enough  ib,- 
her  flag  to  be  plainly  seen.     They  had  been  right  in 
their  conjectures,  and  the  new  comer  was  a  Frencli  frig. 
ate.    1  his  assurance  seemed  to  open  tlie  moutli  of  Zac 
I  must  say,"  he  remarked  to  Clau.le,  "  t!,e  nearer 
I  get  to  her,  the  less  I  like  it.     I've  met  Jloosoo  bo- 
fore  this  on  the  high  seas,  but  I  alius  went  on  the  ,,lan 
of  keepin'  out  of  his  way.     Tliis  here  system  of  goin' 
right  into  his  jaws  don't  suit  me  at  all." 

"  0  coine  now,"  said  Clau.le,  "  don't  begin  again.  I 
thought  you'd  given  up  all  anxiety.  Tliere's  not  the 
sliglitest  occasion  for  being  worried  about  it.  Ml  find 
out  whether  they  can  take  mo  to  Louisbonrg,  an.l  if 
so  111  leave  you,  and  you'll  get  back  to  Boston  quicker 
tHan  It  you  took  me  where  you  first  proposed  " 

''  Yes ;  but  suppose  she's  goiu'  to  France,  and  chooses 
to  take  me  prisoner  •>.  "  said  Zac. 

"0,   nonsense!"   said    Claude.      "They    couldn't. 
What,  after  saving  so  many  lives,  and  conveying  these 


:     I 


:    I 


Mi 


72 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


rescued  fellow-countryrnen  to  their  own  flag,  do  you 
suppose  they  couhl  thiuk  of  arrestmg  you  ?  Nonsense  I 
The  thmg's  impossible." 

Zac  said  no  more,  but  was  evidently  ill  at  ease,  and 
in  his  own  mind  there  was  no  end  of  dark  forebodings 
as  to  the  event  of  this  meeting.  These  forebodings 
were  in  no  way  lessened  as  the  schooner  rounded  to 
under  the  lee  of  the  frigate,  and  Zac  saw  a  row  of  guns 
heavy  enough  to  blow  him  and  his  "  Parson  "  to  atoms. 
The  frigate  did  not  wait  for  the  schooner  to  send  a 
boat  aboard,  for  her  own  boat  was  all  ready,  and  soon 
appeared,  well  manned,  rowing  towards  the  scliooner. 
On  coming  alongside,  the  olHcer  in  command  stepped 
on  board,  and  Claude  at  once  went  forward  to  meet 
him.  Cazeneau  also  walked  forward  with  the  same 
purpose. 

Claude  politely  raised  his  hat,  and  the  officer  civilly 
returned  his  greeting. 

"  This,  monsieur,  is  the  schooner  Amos  Adams,  of 
Boston.  Wc  have  recently  picked  up  the  survivors 
of  His  Royal  French  Majesty's  frigate  '  Arethuse,' 
which  has  been  lost  at  sea,  and  we  have  come  to  see 
whether  you  could  take  them.  Will  you  have  the 
goodness  to  tell  me  where  you  are  going?" 

"  Mon  Dieu  !  "  exclaimed  the  officer,  "  the  Arethuse 
lost !  Is  it  possible  ?  What  a  terrible  misfortune  ! 
And  she  had  on  board  the  new  commandant  for  Louis- 
bourg." 

At  this  Cazeneau  came  forward. 

''  He  is  safe,  monsieur,  for  I  am  he." 

The  officer  respectfully  removed  his  hat,  and  bowed 
very  low. 

"What  ship  is  this?"  asked  Cazeneau,  in  the  tone 
of  a  superior. 


I 


I 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA, 


73 


11 


"  L'Aiglo/'  replied  tlie  officer. 

^'  Where  are  you  lK)nii(l  ?  " 

"To  Brest.     We   Imve  just   been  cruising   to    the 
different  settlements  m„l  fnrts  on  the  \Uy  of  Fun.lv 
with  some  supplies  which  were  sent  iron,  Louishourg.'' 
All !    And  you  are  now  on  your  return  to  France  v  '' 

"  Yes." 

''  Who  commands  your  ship?" 
"  Captain  Ducrot." 

"  Ah  !  Very  good.  You  see,  monsieur,"  said  Caze- 
ncau  to  Claude,  "  this  ship  is  h.und  to  France:  alul 
that  (iestniation  will  not  suit  any  of  us.  I  think  I  had 
better  go  aboard  and  see  the  captain,  with  whom  I 
may  have  some  little  influence.  Perhaps,  as  my  com- 
mand IS  an  Hiiportant  one,  he  may  be  persuaded  to  alter 
his  course,  and  lan.l  us  at  Louisbourg,  or  some  other 
place^— And  so,  monsieur,"  he  continued,  turning  to 
the  ofJicer,  "  I  shall  be  obliged  to  you  if  you  will  put 
me  aboard  the  Aigle." 

The  officer  assured  him  that  tlie  boat  was  altogether 
at  his  service;  whereupon  Cazeneau  stepped  aboard, 
followed  by  the  officer,  and  in  a  short  time  the  boat 
was  on  Its  way  back  to  ih^  f,-igate.     Claude  watclied 
this    m    silence,   and   without    any    misgivings.      It 
seemed   to  him  quite  natural,  and,  indeed,  the  best 
thing  tliat  could  be  done,  under  the   circumstances 
11  the  ship  was  going  to  France,  slie  could  not  be  of 
service  to  them;  but  if  her  captain  could  be  induced 
to^  change  his  course   and  land   tliem  at   Louisbourg 
this  would  be  exactly  what  they  wanted ;  and  (\ize- 
neau  seemed  to  be  the  only  one  on  board  who  was  at 
all  likely  to  persuade  the  captain  of  the  Aigle  to  do 
such  a  thing  as  this. 


u 


THE  LILY  AiXl)    THE   CROSS. 


'  i   i 


It  soemofl  }i  l()nj>;  time  before  Jiiiy  furtlier  notice  was 
taken  of  the  scliooner.  Meanwliile,  all  on  board  were 
watcliing  the  frigate  with  much  anxiety,  and  wonder- 
ing wliat  the  result  would  be.  In  any  case  it  did  not 
seem  a  matter  of  very  great  importance  to  any  one  ; 
for  the  lieutenant  and  the  two  sailors,  who  might  have 
been  most  concerned,  were  very  well  treated  on  board 
the  schooner,  —  better,  perhaps,  than  tliey  would  be 
on  board  a  frigate, —  and  evinced  no  particular  desire 
to  leave.  The  i)riest  said  nothing:  and  to  him,  as  well 
as  to  Claude,  there  was  nothing  to  l)e  gained  by  tak- 
ing to  the  ship.  As  for  the  nged  fjaliorde,  lie  was 
still  too  weak  to  take  any  notice  of  events  going  on 
around  him  ;  while  Mimi,  perhaps,  found  herself  as 
well  situated  here,  under  tlie  care  of  Claude,  as  slie 
could  possibly  be  on  the  lai'ger  shij),  under  tlie  care 
of  one  who  might  be  less  agreeable.  Claude  himself 
would  certainly  have  preferred  letting  things  remain 
as  they  were.  The  situation  was  very  pleasant. 
Mimi's  occasional  companionship  seemed  sweeter  than 
anything  he  had  ever  known  ;  and,  as  he  was  master 
on  board,  he  naturally  had  a  certain  right  to  show 
her  attentions ;  which  right  he  could  not  have  under 
other  circumstances.  He  would  have  liked  to  see 
Cazeneau  take  his  departure  for  good,  together  witli 
the  French  sailors,  leaving  Laborde  and  Mimi  on 
board  the  schooner.  Finally,  Zac  was  not  at  all 
pleased  with  anything  in  Ins  present  situation.  The 
thought  of  possible  foul  })lay  never  left  his  mind  for 
an  instant;  and  though  the  blow  w^as  delayed  for  a 
considerable  time,  he  could  not  help  feeling  sure  that 
it  would  fall. 

During  this   period   of  waiting,  the  aged  Laborde 


-■i' 


A    TALE   OF  A  CAD/A. 


75 


had  been  brnnglit,  up  on  dock,  and  placed  tliero  on  a 
seat.  This  was  done  from  a  liopo  whicli  Minn'  had 
that  he  wouhl  he  benefited  by  the  excitement  of  the 
change.  Tlie  sight  of  the  ship,  howover,  produced 
but  httle  effect  of  any  kind  iip,,n  tli(^  languid  and 
worn-out  old  man.  IIo  gave  an  in.b'fferent  ghmce  at 
the  frigate  and  the  surrounding  scene,  and  then  sub- 
sided into  himself,  while  Mimi  in  vain  strove  to  rouso 
him  from  his  indifference. 

At  last  their  suspense  came  to  an  end,  and  ihey 
saw  preparations  making  for  another  visit  to  tho 
schooner.  This  time  a  second  boat  was  lowered, 
which  was  filled  with  marines.  The  sight  of  thij 
formidable  boat's  crew  produced  on  Claude  an  im- 
pression  of  surprise;  wliilc  in  Zac  it  enforced  a  con- 
viction  tliat  his  worst  fears  were  now  to  be  realized. 

'^  Look  thar  !  "  said  he  in  a  hoarse  wliisper.  '^  Now 
you  see  what's  a  comin'  !  Go«jd  by,  poor  old  Parson  ' 
Yer  ni  the  claws  of  the  Philistines  now,  an'  no  mis- 
take." 

To  tliis  Claude  made  no  reply  ,  for  he  began  to  feel 
rather  perplexed  himself,  and  to  imagine  that  Caze- 
neau  might  have  been  playing  him  lidse.  All  that 
Mimi  had  said  about  him  now  came  to  his  mind,  and 
the  armed  boat's  crew  seemed  like  the  first  act  of 
a  traitor.  He  tried  to  account  for  this  in  some  other 
way,  but  was  not  able.  He  could  no  longer  laugh 
away  Zac's  fears.     He  could  only  be  still  and  wait.  "^ 

The  two  boats  rowed  towards  the  schooner.  Caze- 
neau  was  not  in  eitlier  of  them.  He  had  remained 
on  board.  At  length  one  of  the  boats  touched  the 
schooner,  and  tlie  same  officer  who  had  visited  her 
before  again  stepped  on  board. 


; 


If 


76 


Till':  I.ILV  A\l)    THE   CROSS. 


"  Is  tlic  Count  do  Lsibordo  hrro  ?  "  lio  iiskofl. 

C1jui(1(3  pointed  lo  where!  tlie  old  niiiii  WIS  Rcatod. 
The  olliccr  iidvaneed,  and  I'einoved  his  hat  with  a 
bow  to  tho  ohl  count,  and  another  to  tliu  beautiful 
Mimi. 

'"  Monsi(!ur  V\  Conite,"  said  lie,  ''  T  have  the  bonor  to 
convey  to  you  the;  eomplinienls  of  Captain  Ducrot, 
witb  tho  rerpu^st  tliat  you  would  honor  him  with  your 
company  on  board  tlie  Ai<^le.  IJis  exeelleney  tho 
Comto  do  Cazoneau,  conimandant  of  Louisbourg,  lias 
persuaded  liim  to  convey  himself,  and  you,  and  somo 
others,  to  the  nearest  Freii  .1  ibrt.  It  is  tli(!  intention 
of  Captain  Ducrot  to  sail  back  up  the  J5ay  of  Fundy, 
and  land  you  at  CJrand  Pre.  from  which  place  you  can 
reacli  Tiouisbourg  by  lancL" 

To  this  Laborde  ma.iinired  a  few  in(bstinct  words 
in  reply,  wliih;  Mimi  made  no  remark  wbatever.  Sho 
was  anxious  to  know  what  (Uaude  was  intending  to 
do.     The  ollicer  now  turned  away  to  tho  others. 

"  My  instructions,"  said  he,  "  are,  to  convey  tho  in- 
vitation of  Captain  Ducrot  to  ^lonsicur  I'Abbc  Michel 
and  Lieutenant  d' Angers,  whom  he  will  bo  happy  to 
receive  on  board  the  Aigle,  and  convc}^  them  to  Grand 
Pre,  or  France.  The  twH)  seamen  of  the  Arethuso 
will  also  go  on  board  and  report  themselves." 

The  olHcer  now  went  back  to  Laborde,  and  offered 
to  assist  him.  The  old  man  rose,  and  taking  his  arm, 
walked  feebly  towairds  the  vessel's  side,  wdience  ho 
descended  into  tlie  boat,  and  was  assisted  to  the  stern 
uy  the  seamen.  The  olFicer  then  assisted  Mimi  to  a 
place  by  her  father's  side,  anticipating  Claude,  who 
stepped  forw^ard  with  the  offer  of  his  assistance, 
lien  followed  Pore  Michel,  and  Lieutenant  d' Angers, 


!     . 


A    TALE  OF  AC  APIA. 


77 


5rod 
linn, 
ho 
:erii 
to  cl 
^vllo 
ice. 
lers, 


of  tlio  Aretbnso  ;  tli(;n  Margot ;  mid,  finally,  tlio  two 
Roamen. 

Mcaiiwliilo  nothing  was  said  to  Clando.  TTo  was 
not  inclndcd  in  tlio  coinpliniciitH  of  (^ij)tain  Dutirot, 
nor  was  ny  notice  taken  of  liini  in  any  way.  Ho 
conld  not.  li('l|)  fooling  slightod  and  irritated  at  tlio 
w]m)1o  i)r()Ooeding.  To  hinisolf  and  to  Zac  thi.s  wholo 
party  owed  their  lives,  and  they  were  all  leaving  liini 
now  with  no  more  regard  for  him  tlian  if  he  were  a 
perfect  stranger.  But  the  fact  was,  tiie  Avliole  party 
took  it  for  granted  that  lie  and  Zac  would  he  invited 
on  board,  and  that  they  would  see  tlieni  both  again, 
and  su])posed  that  they  were  coming  in  the  samo  boat. 
Mimi  and  Pere  Michel  both  tliouglit  that  Claude,  at 
least,  was  going  with  them  ;  for  he  had  told  them 
both  that  ho  was  going  to  leave  the  schooner  and  send 
Zac  home. 

]5ut  Claude's  feelings  were  somewhat  eml)ittered 
l)y  this  whole  incident,  and  were  destined  to  be  still 
more  so  before  it  was  all  over. 

The  lieutenant  I'cmained  on  l)()ard.  The  ])oat  r(jwed 
back  to  the  Aigle,  carrying  the  passengers  above 
named,  after  wliich  the  lieutenant  motioned  to  tho 
other  boat.  This  one  moved  a  )ngside,  and  a  half- 
dozen  armed  seamen  stepped  on  board. 

''  Monsieur,"  said  the  lieutenant,  advancing  to  Claude, 
"  I  hope  you  will  pardon  me  f  r  being  the  instrument 
in  a  very  unpleasant  duty.  I  am  pained  to  inform  you 
that  you  are  my  prisoner,  on  the  command  of  liis  ex- 
cellency the  commandant  of  Louisbourg,  whoso  in- 
structions I  am  ordered  to  fulfil.  I  deeply  regret  this 
painful  necessity,  and  most  sincerely  hope  that  it  may 
prove  only  a  temporary  inconvenience." 


( 


78 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


!    ■! 


If 


At  tliis  ClsMidc  was  so  astoimdcd  tliat  for  some  time 
lie  could  only  staro  at  tlio  ofliccr,  without  being  able 
to  utter  a  syllable.     At  length  lie  said, — 

"  What,  monsieur  !  A  prisoner?  You  must  be  mis- 
taken !  And  who —  The  connnandant  of  Louisbourg 
—  is  not  that  the  Count  de  Cazeneau  ?  '' 

''  It  is." 

*^  But,  monsieur,  it  must  be  a  mistake.  I  have  never 
injured  him.  or  any  one.  I  have  done  nothing  but 
good  to  him.  My  friend  here,  the  captain  of  this 
schooner,  and  I,  saved  his  life  ;  and  we  have  treated 
him  with  the  utmost  kindness  since  he  was  ou  board 
here.  Finally,  we  sailed  towards  you,  and  put  our- 
selvet.  in  your  powxr,  solely  that  these  shipwrecked 
passengers,  of  whom  tlie  Count  de  Cazeneau  was  one, 
might  reach  their  friends  sooner.  How,  then,  can  he 
possibly  mean  to  arrest  me?  " 

"  Monsieur,  I  assure  you  that  it  grieves  me  most 
deeply,"  said  the  officer  — ''  most  exquisitely.  1  know 
all  this  —  all,  and  so  does  Captain  Ducrot ;  but  there 
is  no  mistake,  and  it  must  be." 

"  But  what  authority  has  he  here,  and  why  should 
your  captain  do  his  orders  ?  " 

''  Monsieur,  I  am  only  a  subordinate,  and  I  know 
nothing  but  my  orders.  At  the  same  time,  you  mi'st 
know  tliat  tlie  connnandant  of  Louisbourg  has  general 
control,  by  land  and  sea,  and  is  my  ca].)tain's  superior." 

Claude  made  no  reply.  He  saw  that  this  m;in  was 
but,  as  he  said,  a  subordinate,  and  was  only  obeying  his 
orders.  But  the  officer  had  something  still  on  his 
mind.  His  Avords  and  his  looks  all  sliowed  that  the 
present  business  Avas  exceedingly  distasteful  to  him, 
and  that  he  was  only  doing  it  under  pressure. 


' 
1 


;  I 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


79 


hid 

the 
I  him, 


"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  after  a  pause,  "  I  have  another 
painful  duty  to  perform.  1  am  ordered  to  take  pos- 
session of  this  schooner,  as  a  prize  of  war,  and  take 
the  captain  and  crew  as  prisoners  of  war." 

At  this  Claude  stared  at  the  officer  once  more,  ut- 
terly stupefied. 

"  Mon  Dieu!"  he  cried,  at  length.  "Are  you  a 
Frenchman?  Is  your  captain  a  French  gentleman? 
Do  you  know,  monsieur,  wluit  you  are  doing?  We 
have  saved  some  shijiwreckod  Frenchmen;  we  have 
carried  them  to  a  place  of  safety  ;  and  for  this  we  are 
arrested  !  This  honest  man,  the  captain,  might  ex- 
pect a  reward  for  his  generosity ;  and  what  does  he 
get  ?  Why,  he  is  seized  as  a  prisoner  of  war,  and  his 
schooner  is  made  a  prize  !  Is  tliere  any  chivalry  left 
in  France  ?  Are  these  the  acts  of  Frenchmen  ?  Great 
Heavens  I     Has  it  come  to  this  ? 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  officer,  ''  be  calm,  I  implore 
you.  All  this  gives  me  the  most  exquisite  distress. 
But  I  must  obey  orders." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Claude.  "  You  are  a  subordi- 
nate. I  am  wasting  words  to  talk  with  you.  Take 
me  to  your  captain,  or  to  the  Count  de  Cazeneau. 
Let  me  iearn  what  it  is  that  induces  him  to  act 
towards  us  with  such  unparalleled  baseness." 

"  Monsieur,  I  shail  be  hap[)y  to  do  all  that  I  can.  I 
will  take  you  to  the  Aigle,  —  under  guard,  —  and  you 
will  be  a  prisoner  there.  1  hope  that  his  excellency 
will  accord  you  the  favor  of  an  hiterview." 

All  tlii  une  Zac  had  been  a  silent  spectator  of  the 
scene.  Iio  had  not  understood  the  words  tliat  were 
spoken,  but  he  had  gathered  the  general  meaning  of 
this  scene  from  the  gestures  and  expression  of   the 


1 


I 


^     -  I   •! 


Ill: 


80 


TNIi   IJLV  AXI)    THE  CROSS. 


'I 


two  speakers.  TIk^  ])i-('seii('e,  also,  of  tlie  armed  guard 
was  enough  to  show  liiui  that  the  l)low  whicli  he 
dreaded  had  litllcn.  And  now,  since  the  worst  had 
happened,  all  his  uneasiness  de[)arted,  and  he  re- 
sumed all  the  vigor  of  his  mind.  He  at  once  decided 
uj)on  the  ])est  course  to  i'ollow,  and  that  course  was  to 
he  em})hatically  one  of"  (piiet,  and  cahuness,  and  cool 
Avatchfulness.  Claudci  had  become  excited  at  this 
ev  3nt ;  Zac  liad  ])ecome  cool. 

"  Wal,"  said  he,  advancing  towards  Claude,  ''  it's 
just  as  1  said.  1  alius  said  that  these  here  fVog-eatin' 
Frenchmen  wan't  to  l)e  trust(Ml :  and  hei'e,  you  see, 
1  was  rig] it.  L  see  about  how  it  is.  The  j)oor,  un- 
ibrt'nate  Parson's  done  for,  an'  I'm  in  for  it,  too,  I 
s'pose." 

Claude  turned,  and  gave  Zac  a  look  of  indescribable 
distress. 

'^  There's  some  infernal  villain  at  work,  Zac,"  said 
he,  "  out  of  the  common  course,  altogether.  Pm  ar- 
rested myself." 

"  You?  Ah  !  "  said  Zac^,  who  did  not  appear  to  l)c 
at  all  surprised.  ''You  (h)n't  say  so!  Wal,  you've 
got  the  advantage  of  me,  since  you  can  sjjeak  their 
darned  lingo.  ;So  they've  gone  an'  'rested  you,  too  — 
have  they  ?  " 

''  It's  that  infernal  Cazeneau,"  said  Claude ;  "  and  I 
haven't  gottlie  faintest  idea  why." 

"  Cazeneau,  is  it  ?  O,  well,"  ^:iid  /^ac,  ''  they're  all 
alike.  It's  my  opinion  that  it's  tlie  captain  of  the 
iVigate,  an'  he's  doin'  it  in  Cazeneau's  name.  Ye  see 
lie's  ben  a  cruisin'  about,  an'  hankers  after  a  prize  :  an' 
I'm  the  only  one  he's  picked  up.  You're  'rested — • 
course  —  as  one  of  the  belongin's  of  the  Parson.     You 


ill" 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


81 


''  it's 


ciir 


f 


I 


an'  I  an'  the  hull  crow  :  tlmt\s  it !     We're  all  prisonei's 
oi  war  !  " 

"O,  no,"  said  Claude.  Mt  isn't  that,  altogether; 
there's  some  deeper  game." 

''Pooh  !  "  said  Zae  ;  -^  the  game  ain't  a  deep  one,  at 
all;  it's  an  every-day  game.  IJut  I  must  sav  it'  is 
hard  to  be  done  for  jest  because  we  had  a  hvtle  too 
much  hooman  iecdin'.  Now,  et'  we'd  only  let  them 
Frenchies  rot  and  drown  on  their  raft, —  or  ef  we'd  a' 
taken  thein  as  prisoners  to  Boston,  —  we'd  ben  spared 
this  present  tribulation.'' 

Zae  heaved  a  sigh  as  he  said  this,  and  turned  away. 
Then  a  sudden  thouglit  struck  him. 

"  0,  look  here,"  said  he  ;  "jest  ask  'em  one  thing, 
as  a  partiklar  favor.  You  needn't  mention  me,  though! 
It's  this.  Ask  'em  if  they  won't  leave  me  free  — that 
IS,  I  don't  want  to  be  handculTed." 

''Handcuffed!"  exclahned  Claude,  grinding  his 
teetli  in  futile  rage.     "  They  won't  dare  to  do  tliat ! "' 

"  0,  you  jest  ask  this  Moosoo,  as  a  favor.  They 
needn't  ol)ject." 

Upon  this  Claude  turned  to  the  officer. 

"  Monsieur,"  said  he,  "  I  have  a  favor  to  ask.  I  and 
my  Iriend  here  are  your  prisoners,  but  we  do  not  wish 
to  be  treated  with  unnecessary  indignity  or  insult.  I 
ask,  then,  that  we  may  be  spare<l  the  insult  of  beinn- 
bound.  Our  oifence  has  not  been  great.  We  have 
only  saved  the  lives  of  six  of  y,)ur  fellow-country- 
men.    Is  it  presumption  to  expect  this  fiivor  V  " 

''Monsieur,"  said  the  olHcer,  "  I  assure  you  that,  as 
tar  as  1  luu-e  anything  to  say,  you  shall  not  be  bound. 
And  as  to  this  brave  felhr,,  he  may  be  at  liberty  to 
move  about  m  this  schooner  as  long  as  he  is  quiet^and 


w 


:      ! 


P^ 


i 


82 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS, 


gives  no  oiTcncc  —  tliat  is,  for  tlic  present.  And  now, 
monsieur,  1  will  ask  you  to  accompany  mo  on  board 
the  Aigle." 

With  those  words  tlie  officer  prepared  to  rpiit  tlie 
schooner.  Before  doiuu^  so  lie  addi'cssed  some  words 
to  the  six  seamen,  wlio  were  to  he  left  in  cliarge  as  a 
prize  crew,  with  one  midshipman  at  tlieir  hea(L  ITe 
directed  them  to  follow  the  frigate  until  furtlier 
orders,  and  also,  until  furtlier  orders,  to  leave  the 
cnptain  of  the  schooner  unbound,  and  let  him  have 
the  run  of  the  vessel. 

After  tliis  the  officer  returned  to  the  Aigle,  taking 
Claude  with  him. 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


83 


11(1  now, 

f 

n  board 

i 

ii 

init  (lie 

|f 

0  words 

1 

<e  as  a 

i 

d.     He 

1 

further 

1 

Lve  the 

1 

n  liave 

1 

taking 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

UNDER   ARREST. 

'DY  the  time  that  Claude  reached  tlio  AiVle    tlie 
■^  evciung  of  this  eventlnl  .lay  was  at  ha„.l/   No 
was  taken  to  a  room  „n  the  Kun-deek,  whicli  seenie.! 
as  thons,  nsod  for  a  prison,  ih.n,  the   Koneral  char- 
acter  of  tlie  bolts  and  bars,  and  other  fixtures.    Claude 
asked  to  see  tlie  captain,  and  the  lieutenant  promised 
to  carry  the  message  to  ),im.     After  al,out  an  liour  he 
came  back  with  tl,e  message  that  tl,e  captain  could 
not  see  Inm  that  evening.     Upo„  this  Chiudo  beo-.ved 
him  to  ask  Count  de  Cazenea.i  for  an  interview.  "tIic 
officer  went  off  once  more,  and  retui'ned  witli  the  same 
answen     l^pon  this  Claude  was  <.ompelled  to  sulnnit 
o  Ins  fa  e  as  best  lie  might.     It  was  a  hard  thing  for 
'""-■..the  inidst  of  health,  and  strength,  and  joy,  with 
..n  tlie  bounding  activity  and  eager  energy  of  ■youth 
to  be  cast  do,vn  into  a  prison ;  but  to  be  a/rested  and 
"iipnsoned  under  such  circumstances  :  to  be  so  fbullv 
wronged  by  tlie  very  luai,  whose  lilb  l,e  had  saved- 
o  have   lus  own   kindn..ss  and   hosi,itality  repaid  by 
treachery,  and  l,o„ds,  and  insult,    -all  tin's  was  ..all- 
ingm  the  highest  degree,  am    u-.d!  nigh  intolerabll 

lliat  night  Claude  ,lid  ,i„t  sleep.  He  lay  awnko 
wondering  what  could  be  the  cause  of  Cazen^au'^  en- 
mity,  and  trying  m  vam  to  conjecture. 


n 


■li 


• 


I 


I  i 


fi  I    ; 
li    > 


■ :  '( 


84 


T//E  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


All  tlic  next  inorning  Cliiiidc^  waited  f'oi'  some  mes- 
sage from  (^jptaiii  Diicrot:  Imt  none  camo.  Ilis 
breakfast  was  hrouglit  to  liini,  consisting  of  tlio  coarse 
fare  of  connnon  seamen,  and  then  his  (hmicr;  l)nt  the 
captain  did  not  make  liis  a})peai'ance.  l^Ncn  the  oilicer 
wlio  liad  arrested  liini,  and  wlio  had  liithi'i"t(»  shown 
himself  stifFiciently  sym})athetic,  did  not  appear.  The 
sailor  wlio  brouglit  liis  meals  gave  no  answer  to  liis 
questions.  It  seemed  to  ('lan(h'  as  though  his  captors 
were  unwilling  to  give  liini  a  hearing. 

At  length,  in  about  the  middk;  «)!'  tlie  al'ternoon, 
Claude  heard  tlie  tranij)  of  men  approaching  liis 
prison;  the  door  was  opened,  and  he  saw  an  ollicer 
enter,  while  three  marines,  with  lixed  bayonets,  stood 
outside. 

"  Have  I  the  honor  of  speaking  to  Captain  Diicrot?" 
asked  Claude. 

"I  am  Captain  Ducrot,"  said  tlie  other. 

He  was  a  small,  wiry  man,  dressed  with  extreme 
neatness,  who  looked  rather  like  an  attorney  than  a 
seaman.  His  voice  was  thin  and  harsh,  his  manner 
cold  and  re])ulsive,  with  an  air  of  ])rinmess  and  for- 
mality that  made  him  seem  more  like  a  machine  than 
a  man.  Tlie  first  sight  of  him  made  Claude  feel  as 
though  any  ap})eal  to  his  humanity  or  generosity,  or 
even  justice,  Avould  be  useless.  He  lo()ke(l  like  an 
automaton,  iit  to  obey  the  will  of  another,  but  without 
any  inde])endent  will  of  his  own.  Nevertheless,  ( laude 
had  no  other  resource;  so  he  began:  — 

'^  I  have  asked  for  this  interview,  monsieur,"  said 
he,  "from  a  conviction  that  thei-e  ninst  he  some 
mistake.  Listen  to  me  for  a  moment.  T  have  lived 
in  Boston  all  m}-  life.     I  Avas  on  my  way  to  Louis- 


"■;   I; 


I 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


85 


A^ 


'  said 

some 

lived 

jouis- 


i 


-i 


bourg,  intending-  to  go  to  France  from  tliere,  on  busi- 
ness. I  had  engaged  a  schooner  to  take  me  to  Louis- 
bourg;  and  at  sea  I  canu^  across  a,  portion  of  the 
wreck  of  the  Arethuse,  witli  six  peo[)le  on  l)oard,  one 
of  wlioni  was  the  Count  d(^  Cazencau.  I  saved  tliem 
all  —  that  is,  witli  the  assistance  of  the  ca[)tain  of 
the  schooner.  After  T  l)rought  tlicm  on  board  the 
schooner,  I  treated  them  all  witli  the  utmost  kind- 
ness ;  and  finally,  when  J  saw  your  sliip  in  tlie  dis- 
tance, I  voluntarily  sailed  towards  you,  for  the  pur- 
pose of  allowing  my  i)assengers  to  go  on  board.  I 
had  designed  coming  on  l)oard  myself  also,  if  your 
your  destination  suited  my  views.  And  now,  mon- 
sieur, for  all  this  I  find  myself  arrest(Ml,  licld  here  in 
prison,  treated  as  a  common  felon,  and  all  l)ecause  I 
have  saved  the  lives  of  some  shipwrecked  fellow- 
beings.  Monsieur,  it  is  not  [)o.ssil)le  that  this  can  be 
done  witli  your  knowledge.  If  you  want  confirmation 
of  my  words,  ask  the  good  priest  Pere  Michel,  and  he 
will  confirm  all  tliat  I  have  said." 

The  captain  lir  toned  to  all  this  very  patiently,  and 
without  any  interruption.  At  length,  as  Claude  end- 
ed, he  replied, — 

'^  But  you  yourself  cannot  sup[)ose  that  you,  as  you 
say,  are  imprisoned  merely  for  this.  People  do  not 
arrest  their  benefactors  merely  because  thev  ar(^  thoir 
benefactors;  and  if  you  liave  saved  the  lif;  of  his  ex- 
cellency, you  cannot  suppose  that  he  has  ordei-cd  vour 
arrest  for  titat  sole  reason.  Monsieur  has  moi-e  good 
sense,  and  must  understand  well  that  tliere  is  some 
sort  of  charge  against  him." 

"Monsieur,"  said  Claud(^,  '' T  swear  to  yon  T  not 
only  know  no  reason  for  my  arrest,  bnt  1  cannot  even 


f 


il 


(i .    'I 


\r 


] 


86 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


imagine  one  ;  and  I  entreat  yoii,  aa  a  man  of  honor,  *o 
tell  me  what  the  charge  against  me  is." 

"  Monsieur,"  said  the  captain,  blandly,  ''  we  are  both 
men  of  honor,  of  course.  Of  your  honor  1  have  no 
dou])t.  It  is  untouched.  Every  day  men  of  honor, 
and  of  rank,  too,  are  getting  into  dilliculties;  and 
whenever  one  meddles  witli  political  ail'airs  it  must 
be  so." 

"  Political  aifairs  !  "  cried  Claude.  "  What  have  1  to 
do  with  political  affairs?" 

The  captain  again  smiled  blandly. 

"  Parhleu,  monsieur,  but  that  is  not  for  me  to  say." 

"  But  is  that  the  charge  against  me  ?  " 

"  Most  certainly.     How  could  it  be  otherwise  ?  " 

"  Politics,  politics  !  "  cried  Claude.  "  1  don't  under- 
stand you !     1  must  be  taken  for  some  other  person." 

"  0,  no,"  said  the  captain  ;  "  there's  no  mistake." 

"  Pardon  me,  monsieur,  there  must  be." 

"  Then,  monsieur,  allow  me  to  indulge  the  hope  that 
yon  may  be  able  to  shoAV  where  the  mistake  is,  at  your 
trial." 

The  captain  made  a  movement  now  as  though  he 
was  about  to  leave  ;  but  Claude  detained  liim. 

"  One  moment,  monsieur,"  said  he.  "  Will  you  not 
tell  me  something  more  ?  Will  you  not  tell  me  what 
these  political  charges  are?  For,  I  swear  to  you,  I 
cannot  imagine.  How  can  I,  who  have  lived  all  my 
life  in  Boston,  be  connected  with  politics  in  any  way  ? 
Let  me  know,  then,  something  about  tliese  charges  ; 
for  nothing  is  more  distressing  than  to  be  in  a  situa- 
tion like  this,  and  have  no  idea  whatever  of  the  cause 
of  it." 

<^  Eh  bien,  monsieur,"  said  the  captain,  "  since  you 


*o 


no 


Diior, 

and 

must 


Ito 


jf 


my 

'ay  ? 

rgos ; 

litiia- 

tiiise 


I 


you 


1  1 


i! 


!•    '  ( 


;!f,i 


I  , 


A    TALE   OF  A  CADI  A. 


87 


i 


wisli  It,  T  have  IK)  ol)jeoti()n  wliatovor  to  state  wliat 
tlioy  are;    and   if  you  can   cl,.ar  yimY^(i\['  and   show 
your  nniocrnc.',  1  sliall  ho   tlio   first  to   con^-ratulato 
yon.     His  excollency  will  not   ohjoct   to   my   tcllin;.- 
you,  I  am  snro,  for  ho  is  the  soul  of  ^oodnoss,  and  is 
iull  of  gonorous  impidsos.     Very  well,  then.     In  th(^ 
hrst  place  you  call  yoursoll'  Claude  iMotior.     Now,  this 
is^aid  to  he  an  assmncd   name.     Your  real  name  is 
said  to  he   Claude   do   Montresor;  and  it  is  said   tliat 
you  are  the   son  of  a  certain   Eu-ene  do  Montrosor 
who   conunittod    ^-rave    oirencos   ahout  twenty  years 
ago,  for  which  lie  would  have  heen  severely  pum-shod 
liiHl  he  not  fled  from  tlie  country.     His  wife,  also,— 
your  mother,  perliaps,  — was   proscril.od,  and  would 
have  l)oen  arrested  and  punished  had  she  not  escaped 
with  her  husband.      Tiioy   were  tlien  outlawed,  and 
their  estates  wore   confiscated.     Tlio   wife   died,  the 
husliand    disappeared.      This    is    what    happened   to 
them." 

''  That  is  all  true,"  said   Claude.     ^^  But  my  father 
and  motlior  Avere  both  most  foully  wronged  —  '' 

'^Pardon,  monsieur,"  said  the  captain.''  "That  is 
very  probable  ;  but  1  am  not  here  as  judge  ;  I  am  only 
giving  you  information  about  tlio  charge  against  you. 
1  have  not  time  to  listen  to  your  answer;  and  I  would 
advise  you  not  to  speak  too  hastily.  You  have  already 
confessed  to  the  assumed  name.  I  would  advise  you 
to  be  careful  in  your  statements.  And  now,  monsieur, 
should  you  like  to  liear  any  more  ?  " 

''  Yes,  yes  !  "  cried  Claude,  eagerly  ;  "'  tell  me  all  that 
there  is  to  know." 

''  Very  well,"  said  the  captain.     ''^  Now  you,  under 
an  assumed  name,  engage  a  schooner  to  take  you,  not 


IMAGE  EVALUATION 
TEST  TARGET  (MT-3) 


// 


'<^. 


.// 


A 


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I.I 


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1.8 


11:25  IIIIIU   Hill  1.6 


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.'^  .V 


/^ 


'^ 


y 


,\ 


iV 


^^ 


o 


^^ 


<1^ 


""i 


88 


THE  LILY  AXD   THE   CROSS. 


to  Louisbourg,  but  to  some  place  in  the  vicinity  of 
Louisbourg.  Being  tlie  son  of  two  dangerous  political 
offenders,  who  were  both  outlawed  for  grave  crimes, 
you  are  found  coming  from  Boston  to  Louisbourg 
under  an  assumed  name,  and  upon  a  secret  errand, 
which  you  keep  to  yourself.  Under  tliese  circum- 
stances tlie  commandant  could  not  overlook  your  cas(3. 
It  seemed  to  him  one  whicli  was  full  of  susjjicion,  and, 
in  si)ite  of  the  gratitude  wliich  lie  felt  for  your  kind 
oHices,  he  nevertlieless  was  compelled,  by  a  strong 
sense  of  public  duty,  to  order  your  arrest.  You  will 
be  accorded  a  fair  trial;  and,  though  a[)i)earances  are 
against  you,  you  may  succeed  in  proving  your  inno- 
cence;  in  which  case,  monsieur,  1  am  sure  tliat  no 
one  will  be  more  rejoiced  than  myself  and  his  excel- 
lency. 

"  You  have  also  complained,  monsieur,  of  the  arrest 
of  your  captain.  Tliat  was  done  on  account  of  his 
unfortunate  connection  with  you.  He  may  be  inno- 
cent, but  that  remains  to  be  seen.  At  present  ap- 
pearances are  against  him,  and  he  must  take  his  sliare 
of  the  guilt  which  attaches  to  you.  Ilis  arrest  was  a 
political  necessity." 

After  tliis  the  captain  left ;  and,  as  Claude  saw  how 
useless  it  was  to  attempt  to  plead  liis  cause  to  tliis  man, 
he  made  no  further  attempt  to  detain  him. 

Left  once  more  to  his  own  refl(M^tions,  Claude  re- 
called all  that  the  captain  had  said,  and  at  first  was 
lost  in  wonder  at  the  gravity  of  the  charges  that  had 
been  raised  up  against  him.  Nor  could  he  conceal 
from  himself  that,  though  they  were  based  on  noth- 
ing, they  still  were  serious  and  formidable.  Even  in 
France  charges  of  a  political  kind  would  lead  to  seri- 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


89 


ous  consequencea ;  an<l  here  in  tlic  colonies  lie  felt 
less  sure  of  justice.  Indeed,  as  far  as  justice  wijls 
concerned,  lie  hardly  ho})ed  to  experience  anything 
of  the  kind,  for  his  judge  would  he  the  very  man  who 
had  got  up  these  charges,  and  had  treated  him  with 
such  baseness  and  treachery.  The  liict  was,  tliat  he 
would  be  called  before  a  court  where  accuser,  wit- 
ness, and  judge  Would  all  hu  j>ne  and  t!ie  same  person, 
and,  what  was  more,  the  person  wlio  for  some  reason 
had  chosen  to  become  his  bitterest  enemv.  Dark  in- 
deed  and  gloomy  was  the  })rospect  that  now  lowered 
before  him. 

Before  an  imi)artial  court  the  charges  against  him 
might  be  answered  or  refuted;  but  where  could  he 
find  such  a  court?  Cazeneau  had  created  the  charges, 
and  would  know  how  to  make  them  still  more  Ibrmi- 
dable.  And  now  he  I'elt  that  behind  these  charges 
there  must  lurk  something  mon^  dangerous  still. 

Already  there  had  arisen  in  his  mind  certain  sus- 
picions as  to  Cazeneau's  designs  upon  Alimi.  These 
suspicions  he  had  hinted  at  in  conversation  with  her, 
and  his  present  circumstances  (lee[)ened  them  into  con- 
victions. It  l)egan  now  to  seem  to  him  tliat  Ca/eneau 
liad  designs  to  make  the  beautiful,  high-born  girl  his 
wife.  Everything  favored  liim.  lie  was  supreme  in 
authority  out  here ;  the  old  Laborde  was  under  his  in- 
fluence;  the  daughter's  consent  alone  was  wanting. 
Of  that  consent,  under  ordinary  circumstances,  he 
could  make  sure.  But  he  had  seen  a  close  and  stiong 
friendship  arising  between  Mimi  and  lier  preserver. 
This  Claude  considered  as  a  better  and  more  probable 
cause  for  his  hate.  If  tliis  were  indeed  so,  and  if 
this  hate  grew  up  out  of  jealousy,  then  his  prospects 


■fp 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


were   indeed    dark,  for  jealousy   is  as  cruel   as   the 
grave. 

The  more  Claude  thought  of  this,  the  greater  was 
the  importance  which  lie  attached  to  it.  It  seemed 
to  l)e  this  which  liad  made  Cazeneau  transi'orm  Iiimself 
into  an  eavesdropper;  this  winch  had  occasioned  his 
dark  looks,  his  morose  words,  and  haughty  reticence. 
In  his  eavesdropi)ing  he  must  have  heard  enougjj  to 
excite  his  utmost  je:d.ousy  ;  and  Claude,  in  recalling 
his  conversations  with  Mimi,  could  rcmeniher  words 
which  must  have  been  gall  and  bitt  miess  to  such  a 
jealous  listener. 


3! 


lii 


'i\ 


t 


jrry 


i:!  ;  » 


■i  ' 


F:; 


'I  \. 


It » 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


91 


CHAPTER  IX. 


GRAND   PRE. 


VfEARLY  thirty  years  before  this,  the  French 
^^  government  liad  been  compelled  to  give  up  the 
possession  of  Acadie  to  the  EngHsli,  and  to  retire  to 
tlie  Ishmd  of  Cape  Breton.  Here  they  liad  l)uilt  a 
stronghold  at  Louisbourg,  which  they  were  enlarging 
and  strengthening  every  year,  to  the  great  disgust 
and  alarm  of  the  New  England  colonies.  J3ut  though 
Acadie  had  been  given  up  to  the  English,  it  could 
hardly  be  said  to  be  held  by  them.  Only  two  j^osts 
v;ere  occupied,  the  one  at  Canso,  in  the  strait  that 
separated  Cape  Breton  from  Acadie,  and  the  other 
at  Annapolis  Royal.  At  Canso  there  was  a  wooden 
block-house,  with  a  handful  of  soldiers ;  while  at  An- 
napolis Royal,  where  the  English  governor  resided, 
the  fortifications  were  more  extensive,  yet  in  a  miser- 
able condition.  At  this  last  place  there  were  a  few 
companies  of  soldiers,  and  here  the  governor  tried  to 
])erfbrm  the  difficult  task  of  transforming  the  French 
Acadians  to  loyal  British  subjects. 

But  the  French  at  Louisbourg  never  forgot  their 
fellow-countrymen,  and  never  relinfjuished  theu  de- 
signs on  Acadie.  The  French  inhabitants  of  that 
province  amounted  to  several  thousands,  who  occu- 
pied the  best  portions  of  the  country,  while  the  Eng- 


w 


I  j 

hi! 


ir 

i; 


92 


T//E  LIL  Y  AND  THE  CROSS. 


lish  consistcfl  of  only  a  few  liidividnals  in  one  or  two 
posts.  Among  tlie  Frencli  Acadians  emissaries  were 
constantly  moving  alxmt,  wlio  songlit  t(»  keep  np 
among  them  their  old  loyalty  to  the  Fieneli  crown, 
and  l)y  their  pertinacity  siirely  distui-hed  the  peace 
of  the  English  governor  at  xVnnapolis  Koyal,  I'lie 
French  governor  at  Lonishoin-g  was  not  slow  to 
second  these  efforts  ]»y  keeping  tlie  Acadians  sup- 
plied with  arms  and  amnninition;  and  it  was  lor  this 
purpose  that  the  Aigle  had  heen  sent  to  the  settle- 
ments up  the  Bay  of  Fundy. 

Up  the  bays  he  now  sailed,  in  accordance  wn'th  the 
wish  of  Cazeneau.  His  reason  for  this  course  was, 
that  he  might  see  the  people  for  himself,  and  judge 
how  far  they  might  be  relied  on  in  the  event  of  war, 
wdiich  he  knew  must  soon  be  declared.  It  was  his 
intention  to  land  at  Grand  Pr{^,  the  chief  Acadian  set- 
tlement, and  thence  proceed  l)y  land  to  Louisbourg. 
He  had  understood  from  Captain  Ducrot  that  an 
Indian  trail  went  all  the  way  througli  the  woods, 
which  could  be  traversed  on  horseback.  Such  a 
course  would  impose  more  hardship  upon  the  aged 
Laborde  and  Mimi  than  would  be  encountered  on 
shipboard ;  but  Cazeneau  had  his  own  purposes,  which 
were  favored,  to  a  great  extent,  by  the  land  route. 
Besides,  he  had  the  schooner  with  him,  so  that  if, 
after  all,  it  should  be  advisal)le  to  go  by  water,  they 
could  make  the  journey  in  her. 

The  Aigle  sailed,  and  the  schooner  followed.  The 
wind  had  changed,  and  now  blew  more  steadily,  and 
from  a  favorable  quarter.  The  currents  dehiyed  them 
somewhat ;  but  on  the  third  morning  after  the  two 
vessels  had  met,  they  reached  the  entrance  of  the 
Basin  of  Minas. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


93 


Tho  scenery  liere  was  wild  and  grand.  A  few  miles 
from  the  shore  there  rose  a  lofty  rocky  island,  pre- 
cipitous on  all  sides  save  one,  its  summit  crested  witli 
trees,  its  base  worn  by  the  restless  waves.  Opposite 
this  was  a  rocky  shore,  witli  clifls  crowned  with  tlie 
primeval  forest.  From  this  pond  tlie  strait  l»egan, 
and  went  on  for  miles,  till  it  readied  the  Basin,  Ibrm- 
ing  a  majestic  avenue,  with  a  sublime  gateway.  On 
one  side  of  this  gateway  were  rocky  shores  receding 
into  wooded  hills,  while  on  the  other  was  a  towering 
cliff  standing  apart  I'rom  the  shore,  rising  abruptly 
from  the  water,  torn  by  the  tempest  and  worn  by  the 
tide.  From  this  the  precipitous  clif!"  ran  on  for  miles, 
forming  one  side  of  the  strait,  till  it  terminated  in  a 
majestic  promontory. 

This  promontory  rose  on  one  side,  and  on  tlie  other 
a  lofty,  wooded  island,  inside  (jf  v/liich  was  a  winding 
shore,  curving  into  a  harbor.  Here  the  strait  ter- 
minated, and  beyond  this  the  waters  of  the  Basin  of 
Minas  spread  away  for  many  a  mile,  surrounded  on 
every  side  by  green,  wooded  shores.  In  one  place 
was  a  cluster  of  small  islands  ;  in  another,  rivers  rolled 
their  turbid  floods,  bearing  with  them  the  sediment  of 
long  and  fertile  valleys.  The  blue  waters  s})arkled  in 
the  sun  under  the  blue  sky;  the  sea-gulls  whirled  and 
screamed  through  tlie  air ;  nowhere  could  the  eye  dis- 
cern any  of  the  works  of  man.  It  seemed  like  some 
secluded  corner  of  the  universe,  and  as  if  those  on 
board  the  ship 

"  were  the  first  that  ever  burst 
Into  that  silent  sea." 

But,  though  not  visible  from  this  point,  the  settle- 
ments of  man  were  here,  and  the  works  of  human  in- 


1 


I! 


lil^ 


I- 


r !  I 


^    il 


u 


THE   Lll.V  AM)    THE   CROSS, 


dustry  lyin^  fiir  away  on  tlio  slopes  of  distant  hills  and 
the  e(l^(^s  ol'low.  iiiarsliy  sliores. 

It  was  not  without  iimcli  caution  that  tliey  had 
passed  throiigli  tlie  strait.  Tliey  had  waited  for  the 
tide  to  come  in,  and  tlien,  with  a  favoral)le  wind,  they 
had  made  the  venture.  I^orne  onward  1)V  wind  and 
tide  to^'c^tlier,  they  sailed  on  far  into  the  ])My,  and 
then,  directing  their  course  to  the  soutliward,  tliey 
sailed  onward  for  a  few  miles  fartlier.  The  captain  had 
been  here  before,  and  was  anxions  to  find  his  former 
anchorage.  On  the  former  occasion  he  had  waited 
outside  and  sent  in  for  a  pilot,  but  now  he  had  ven- 
tured inside  without  one,  trusting  to  his  memory.  IIo 
knew  well  the  perils  that  attend  upon  navigation  in 
this  place,  and  was  not  inclined  to  risk  too  much.  For 
here  were  the  highest  tides  in  the  world  to  be  en- 
countered, and  swift  currents,  and  sudden  gusts  of 
wind,  and  far-spreading  shoals  and  treacherous  quick- 
sands, among  which  the  unwary  navigator  could  come 
to  destruction  only  too  easily. 

But  no  accident  happened  on  this  occasicm ;  the 
navigation  was  made  witli  the  utmost  circumspection, 
the  schooner  being  sent  ahead  to  sound  all  the  way, 
and  the  ship  Ibllowing.  At  length  both  came  to 
anchor  at  a  distance  from  the  shore  of  about  five 
miles.  Nearer  than  that  tlie  captain  did  not  dare  to 
go,  for  fear  of  the  sand-banks  and  slioals. 

Here  a  boat  was  lowered,  and  Cazeneau  prepared 
to  land,  together  witii  tlie  aged  Laborde  and  Mimi. 
The  Abb(i  Michel  also  prepared  to  accompany  them. 

Ever  since  Laborde  had  been  saved  from  the  wreck, 
he  had  been  weak  and  listless.  It  seemed  as  though 
the  exhaustion,  and  exposure,  and  privation  of  that 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


05 


event  luul  utterly  broken  down  liis  eoiistitntion.  Since 
he  liud  l)een  taken  to  (lio  sliip,  liowever,  lir  lia<l  ^rown 
nmcli  worse,  and  was  no  lon;j,('r  al»l(;  lo  walk.  He  had 
not  risen  IVoni  his  herth  since  lie  liad  eoine  on  hojird 
tlie  Aigle.  Minii's  anxiety  ahont  liini  had  l)een  ex- 
cessive, and  slie  had  no  tlionght  lor  anythin/i;  else. 
'I'lie  situation  of  (Maude  was  unknown  to  licr,  and  her 
distress  ahout  lier  fallier's  inereasinjji;  weakness  pre- 
vented her  from  thinking  nuich  ahout  him.     Her  only 


that 


liope  now  was,  tliat  on  reaeliing  tlie  sDore  Uer  tather 
would  experience  a  change  tor  the  better,  and  Ih»  bene- 
fited by  the  land  air. 

On  removing  Laborde  from  his  berth,  it  was  found 
that  he  not  only  had  not  strength  to  stand,  but  tliat 
he  was  even  so  weak  tliat  this  motion  served  of  itself 
to  exhaust  him  fearfull}'.  lie  luid  to  be  i)laced  on  a 
mattress,  and  carried  in  that  way  by  four  sailors  to 
the  ship's  side,  where  he  was  carefully  let  down  into 
the  boat.  There  the  mattress  was  i)laced  in  the  boat's 
stern,  and  Laborde  lay  ui)on  this,  with  his  head  sup- 
ported against  ^limi,  wdio  held  him  encircled  in  her 
arms.     In  this  way  he  was  taken  ashore. 

It  was  a  long  row,  but  the  water  was  comparatively 
smooth,  and  the  landing  had  been  post[)oned  until 
the  flood  tide,  which  made  the  boat's  progress  easier 
and  swifter. 

The  nearest  shore  was  very  low,  and  the  landing- 
])lace  was  two  or  three  miles  farther  on.  In  the  dis- 
tance the  land  rose  higher,  and  was  covered  with 
trees,  with  here  and  there  a  clearing.  1Mie  land 
which  they  first  approached  was  well  wooded  on  the 
water  side,  but  on  j)assing  this  the  whole  scene 
chauged.     This  land  was  an  island,  about  two  miles 


r 


1 


.1, 


'  . 


96 


77/Zr  LILY  AND    THE   CROLS. 


(list.'int  from  tlu^  slioro,  witli  its  iniuT  side  cleared, 
and  dotted  with  houses  and  barns.  JJetween  this  and 
the  slioni  tliere  cxttinded  a  continuous  tract  of  low 
land,  whicli  had  evidently  once  been  a  salt-water 
marsh,  for  alon«j^  the  water's  edge  tlie  coarse  grass 
grew  luxuriantly;  but  a  little  distance  back  there  was 
a  dike,  about  six  or  eight  feet  high,  which  ran  from 
the  island  to  the  shore,  and  evidently  protcujted  tlie 
intervening  level  from  tlie  sea.  "^IMie  island  itself 
thus  served  fis  a  dike,  and  the  artificial  Avorks  that 
had  been  made  ran  where  the  sea  had  the  least  pos- 
sible effect. 

At  length  they  approached  the  main  land,  and  here 
they  saw  the  low  marsh-land  all  around  them.  Here 
a  turbid  river  ran  into  the  Basin,  which  came  down 
a  valley  enclosed  between  wooded  hills,  and,  with  vo- 
lunn'nous  windings,  terminated  its  course. 

At  this  place  tliere  was  a  convenient  beach  for  land- 
ing, and  here  Laborde  was  removed  from  the  boat  and 
carried  up  on  the  bank,  where  he  Avas  laid  on  his 
mattress  under  a  shadowy  willow  tree.  This  point, 
though  not  very  elevated,  commanded  a  prospect 
which,  to  these  new  comers  who  had  suflered  so 
much  from  the  sea,  might  have  afiorded  the  highest 
delight,  had  they  been  sufficiently  free  from  care  to 
take  it  all  in.  All  around  them  lav  one  of  the  most 
fertile  countries  in  all  tlie  world,  and  one  of  the  most 
beautiful.  The  slopes  of  the  hills  rose  in  gentle  ac- 
clivities, cultivated,  dotted  with  groves  and  orchards, 
and  lined  with  rows  of  tall  poplars.  The  simple 
houses  of  the  Acadian  farmers,  with  their  out-build- 
ings, gave  animation  to  tlie  scene.  At  their  feet  lay 
a  broad  extent  of  dike-land,  green  and  glowing  with 


^\ 


U 


II 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


97 


so 
11  lost 
to 
[lost 
host 
ac- 
irds, 
I  pie 
lild- 

rith 


the  verdure  of  Juno,  sproiiding  away  to  tliut  island, 
which  acted  as  a  natural  dike  against  the  waters  of 
the  sea.  Beyond  this  lay  the  blue  waters  ol'  Minas 
Basin,  on  whose  bosom  floated  the  sliip  and  the 
schooner,  while  in  the  distance  rose  tlio  clill'  which 
marked  the  entrance  into  the  Basin,  and  all  the  on- 
closing  shores.  " 

But  none  of  the  party  noticed  this.  Cazi^ieau  was 
{d)Sorbed  with  his  own  plans ;  Laborde  lay  extondod 
on  the  mattress,  without  any  ai)i)oarance  of  life  oxcoj)t 
a  faint  breathing  and  tin  occasional  movement;  over 
him  Mimi  hung  in  intense  anxioty,  watching  every 
change  in  his  face,  and  filled  with  the  most  dreadful 
apprehensions;  at  a  little  distance  stood  Pere  Micliol, 
watching  them  with  sad  and  respectful  sympathy. 

Captain  Ducrot  had  come  ashore  in  the  boat,  and, 
leaving  Laborde,  he  accompanied  Cazeneau  to  a  house 
which  stood  not  far  awav.  It  was  rather  larger  than 
the  average,  with  a  row  of  t.all  poplars  in  front  and  an 
orchard  on  one  side.  A  road  ran  from  tho  landing, 
past  this  house,  up  the  hill,  to  the  rest  of  the  settle- 
ment farther  on. 

An  old  man  was  seated  on  a  bench  in  the  doorway. 
He  rose  as  he  saw  the  strangers,  and  respectfully  re- 
moved his  hat. 

"  How  do  you  do,  Robicheau?"  said  Ducrot.  "  You 
see  I  have  come  back  again  sooner  tlian  I  expected. 
I  have  brought  with  me  his  excellency  the  governor 
of  Louisbourg,  wlio  will  be  obliged  if  you  can  make 
him  comfortable  for  a  few  days.  Also  thore  are  the 
Count  de  Laborde  and  his  daughter,  whom  I  should 
like  to  bring  here  ;  but  if  you  cannot  make  them  com- 
fortable, I  can  take  them  to  Comeau's." 


nn 


¥  ■ 


li 


I 


I*     -■! 


I    ; 


■i- 


If: 


98 


77//;   /.//.  r  /IA7)  rilE  CROSS, 


upon  this,  l{()l>i(,'licaii,  with  a  low  how  to  (\izon('Hn, 
informed  him  that  ho  tlioii;;lit  tlici-c  mi^ht  Iju  room  lor 
them  all,  if  they  woiihl  Ik;  williiii;-  to  ac('('[)t  his  hiimhlo 
hospitality.  '^I'hi^  old  man  s|n)k(>  with  much  endiarrass- 
ment,  yet  with  sincere  j;'ood  will.  Ih^  was  exideiitly 
overwhelmed  by  the  grandeur  of  his  visitors,  yet  anx- 
ious to  do  all  in  liis  power  to  ^ive  them  littini;*  enter- 
taimnent.  Ducrot  now  informed  him  that  the  Count  de 
Lahordii  needed  innne(liate  I'est  and  attention;  whei'e- 
upon  Robicheau  went  in  to  sunmion  his  dame,  who  at 
once  set  to  work  to  prt'})are  rooms  for  tlie  guests. 

Ducrot  now  returned  to  tlie  landin<i-,  and  ordered 
tlie  Bailors  to  carry  Lal)orde  to  JJobieheau's  house. 
They  carried  him  on  the  mattivss,  su])porting  it  on 
two  oars,  which  w^ere  fastened  with  roi)es  in  sucli  a 
way  as  to  form  a  very  easy  litt(>r.  Mimi  walked  by 
her  father's  side,  wdiile  Pere  .Michel  followed  in  the 
rear.  In  tliis  way  they  reached  Rolticheau's  house. 
The  room  and  the  bed  were  already  ])repared,  and 
Laborde  w^as  carried  there.  As  he  was  placed  ui)on 
that  bed,  JMinn'  looked  at  him  with  intense  anxiety 
and  alarm,  lor  his  pale,  emaciated  face  and  wcidc,  at- 
tenuated frame  seemed  to  belong  to  one  who  was  at 
the  last  verge  of  life.  An  awful  fear  of  the  worst 
came  over  her  —  the  fear  of  bereavement  in  tliis  dis- 
tant land,  the  presentiment  of  an  appalling  desolation, 
which  crushed  her  young  heart  and  reduced  her  to 
despair.  Her  fjither,  her  only  relative,  her  only  pro- 
tector, was  slipping  away  from  her ;  and  in  the  future 
there  seemed  nothing  before  her  but  the  very  black- 
ness of  darkness. 

The  good  dame  Robicheau  saw  her  bitter  grief,  and 
ahed  tears  of  sympathy.     8he  oftered  no  word  of  con- 


A    TALE   OF  ACAD/ A. 


09 


Hohitioii,  for  to  her  I'XjxM'icnccd  eyes  this  fcclde  ohl 
insin  scciulmI  jihx'iidv  hcNoiid  tho  ivjicli  ol"  hope.     She 

«-  ft  1, 

L'oiihl  (Hilv  sliow  her  cninrmssion  l»v  her  tears.  IV'r(3 
Micliel,  ulso,  liiid  iKttliiii^*  to  s:i\  :  aiid  to  all  the  dis- 
tress of  tho  despairing'  ynmij;'  ;.';irl  lie  eoidd  olVci*  no 
Word  of  eond'ort.  It  was  a  ease  wlieic  eoiidort  <nuld 
not  l»e  administered,  and  wheic  tla;  stricken  heart 
CO,  hi  only  ]>e  left  U)  strn;^';;lo  with  its  nwn  griefs  — 
ah)no. 

A  few  lioiir.'^  after  tlu;  first  lioat  went  ashore*,  a  sec- 
ond l)oat  lande(h  By  this  time,  a  larj^c  nnmher  nl'  (he 
inhahitants  had  asseniltle(|  at  the  landing-place,  to  seo 
what  was  p)in»j!;  on;  for  to  these  people  the  sii;ht  of  a 
ship  was  a  rare  oecuri'ence,  and  they  all  i-(.M'(»j;iiizcd 
the  Aijj^le,  and  wondered  why  she  had  returned.  This 
second  hoat  carried  Claude,  who  had  thus  heen  ro- 
iTjoved  from  the  ship  to  the  shore  for  the  purpose  of 
being  conveyed  to  Louishoui'g.  Cai)tain  I)ucr(>t  and 
Cazcneau  had  already  succeeded  in  finding  a  place 
where  he  could  he  ke})t.  It  was  the  house  of  one  of 
the  farmers  of  Grand  Pre,  named  Comeau,  one  of  tho 
largest  in  the  whole  settlement. 

Claude  landed,  and  was  committe<l  to  the  care  (jf 
Comeau,  who  had  come  down  to  receive  his  prisoner. 
It  was  not  thouglit  worth  while  to  hind  him,  since,  in 
so  remote  a  place  as  this,  there  would  he  scarcely  any 
inducement  for  him  to  try  to  esca})e.  \^  he  did  so,  he 
could  only  fly  to  the  woods,  and,  as  he  could  not  sujj- 
port  his  life  there,  he  would  l»e  com[)elled  to  retui-n  to 
the  settlement,  or  else  seek  shelter  and  food  among 
the  Indians.  In  either  case  he  would  he  recaptured; 
for  the  Acadians  would  all  ohey  the  order  of  the  gov- 
ernor of  Louisbourg,  and  deliver  up  to  him  any  one 


i 


M 


fii 


r    1 


! 


! 


'     i 


{     < 


■I     \ 


1 


100 


77/^  L/LV  AND   THE   CROSS. 


whom  lie  miglit  designate  ;  Aviiilc  tlie  Indians  would 
do  the  same  with  equal  readiness,  since  they  were  all 
his  allies.  Under  tliese  circumstances,  Claude  was 
allowed  to  go  witli  his  hands  free ;  and  in  this  way 
he  accompanied  Comeau,  to  wliosu  charge  he  was 
committed.  He  walked  through  the  crowd  at  tlio 
landing  without  exciting  any  very  particular  atten- 
tion, and  in  company  with  Comeau  he  walked  for 
about  half  a  mile,  when  he  arrived  at  the  liouse. 
Here  he  was  taken  to  a  room  which  opened  into  tlic 
general  sitting-room,  and  was  lighted  by  a  small  win- 
dow in  the  rear  of  the  house,  and  contained  a  bed  and 
a  chair.  The  door  was  locked,  and  Claude  was  left  to 
his  own  reflections. 

Left  thus  to  himself,  Claude  did  not  find  liis  own 
thoughts  very  agreeable.  He  could  not  help  feeling 
that  he  was  now,  more  than  ever,  in  the  power  of 
the  man  who  had  shown  himself  so  relentless  and 
persevering  in  his  enmity.  He  was  far  away  from 
any  one  whom  he  could  claim  as  a  friend.  The  peo- 
ple here  were  evidently  all  the  creatures  of  Ducrot 
and  Cazeneau.  He  saw  that  escape  was  useless.  To 
get  away  from  this  particular  place  of  imprisonment 
might  be  possible,  for  the  window  could  be  opened, 
and  escape  thus  effected ;  but,  if  he  should  succeed  in 
flying,  where  could  he  go?  Annapolis  Royal  was 
many  miles  away.  He  did  not  know  the  way  there  ; 
he  could  not  ask ;  and  even  if  he  did  know  the  way, 
he  could  only  go  there  by  running  the  gantlet  of  a 
population  who  were  in  league  with  Cazeneau. 

That  evening,  as  old  Comeau  brought  him  some 
food,  he  tried  to  enter  into  conversation  with  him. 
He  began  in  a  gradual  way,  and  as  his  host,  or,  rather, 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


101 


5  would 

verc  all 

do   was 

[lis  way 

ho   was 

at  tlio 

atton- 

vod   for 

liouso. 

iito  tlio 

ill  wiii- 

)ed  and 

5  loft  to 

lis  own 

fooling 

wor  of 

ss  and 

y  from 

10  peo- 

3ucrot 

s.     To 

)innent 

ponod, 

ood  in 

d   was 

lioro  ; 

way, 

of  a 

some 

him. 

ither, 


his  jailer,  listened,  he  went  on  to  toll  liis  whole  story, 
insisting  particularly  on  the  idea  that  (^izonoau  must 
be  mistaken;   for  he  thought  it  best  not  to  charge 
him  with   deliberate   malice.     He    liintod,  also,   that 
if  he  could  escape  he  might  bestow  a  handsome  re- 
ward upon  the  man  wht)    might   help    liim.      To   all 
this   Comeau   listened,  and   even    gave  utter  moo   to 
many  expressions  of  sympathy  ;  but  the  end  of  it  all 
was  nothing.     Either  Comeau  disbelieved  him  utterly, 
but  was  too  polite  to  say  so,  or  else  ho  was  afniid  to 
permit  the  escape  of  the  prisoner  who  had  boon  in- 
trusted to  his  care.     Claude  then  tried  another  moans 
of  influencing  him.     Ho  reminded  him  that  the  gov- 
ernor of  Louisbourg  had  no  jurisdiction  hero  ;  that  the 
Acadians  of  Grand  Pre  were  su])joct  to  the  King  of 
England,   and    that    all    concerned   in    this    business 
would  be  severely  punished  by  the  English  as  soon 
as  they  heard  of  it.     But  here  Claude  utterly  missed 
his  mark.     No  sooner  had  ho  said  this,  than  old  Co- 
meau began  to  denounce  the  English  with  the  utmost 
scorn  and  contempt.     He  told  Claude  that  there  wore 
many   thousands    of  French   in    Acadia,    and   only   a 
hundred  English ;   that  they  wore  weak  and   power- 
less ;  that  their  fort  at  Annapolis  was  iu  a  ruinous 
state ;  and  that,  before  another  year,  they  would  bo 
driven  out  forever.     He  asserted  that  the   King  of 
Franco   was   the   greatest  of  all   kings  ;   that   Franco 
was  the  most  powerful  of  all   countries;   that  Louis- 
bourg was   the    strongest   fortress   in   tlio    universe ; 
and   that   the   French  would  drive   tlu}   English,  rxot 
only  out  of  Acadia,  but    out   of  America.     In   fact, 
Claude's  allusion  to  the  English  proved  to  be  a  most 
unfortunate   one ;   for,  whereas  at  first  the  old  man 


, 


'HI! 


I  ! 


1 


102 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROLS. 


seemed  to  feel  some  sort  of*  sympathy  with  his  mis- 
fortunes, so,  at  the  hist,  excited  by  tliis  allusion,  he 
seemed  to  look  upon  him  as  a  traitor  to  tlie  cause  of 
France,  and  as  a  criminal  wlio  was  guilty  of  all  that 
Cazeneau  had  laid  to  his  charge. 


.11  ! 

1*  > !       i 


i      ! 


mis- 
,  he 
e  of 
that 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


103 


CHAPTER  X. 


l; 


I 


ALONE   IN  THE  WORLD, 

THE  condition  of  the  old  Count  do  Laborde  p;rcw 
steadily  worse.  Tlio  cliange  to  tlieland  liad  done 
liim  no  good,  nor  was  all  the  loving*  care  of  Miiiii 
of  any  avail  whatever.  Every  one  I'clt  that  he  was 
doomed :  and  i\liini  liersclF,  thoiigli  she  struggled 
against  that  thouglit,  still  had  in  lier  heart  a  dark 
terror  of  the  truth.  This  truth  could  at  last  be  con- 
cealed no  longer  even  from  herself,  for  Pere  JMicliel 
came  to  administer  the  holy  eucharist  to  tlie  dying 
man,  and  to  receive  his  last  confession.  Mimi  could 
not  be  present  while  tlie  dying  man  unfolded  to  his 
priest  the  secrets  of  his  heart,  nor  could  she  hope  to 
know  what  those  secrets  were.  But  dark  indeed 
must  they  have  been,  and  far,  very  far,  beyond  the 
scope  of  ordinary  confessions,  for  the  face  of  Pere 
Michel,  as  ho  came  forth  from  tliat  room,  was  pale 
and  sombre  ;  and  so  occupied  was  he  with  his  own 
thoughts  that  he  took  no  notice  of  tlie  weeping  girl 
wlio  stood  there,  longing  to  hear  from  him  some  word 
of  comfort.  But  Pure  Michel  had  none  to  give.  lie 
left  the  house,  and  did  not  return  till  tlie  next  day. 

By  that  time  all  was  over.  Lal)()r(le  liad  passed 
away  in  the  night.  The  priest  went  in  to  look  upon 
the  form  of  the  dead.     Mimi  was  there,  bowed  down 


'i 


I 

■      ! 


I    i, 


•     :      t 


■ .     ft: 


i     I 


"i 


■  i    - 

i 

f 

'l'  ■ 

ii' 

;'  i. 

r.!  ■ 

1 

j    ( 

1  '■  i 

r  ■  i 

! 

t  ■ 

1 

ji 

1  1 
1  i 

1 

;ii :: 
s4< 

.1 

1  '■' 
i  '/ 

i  ■ 

1  1 

1! 

104 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


in  the  deepest  grief,  for  slie  felt  herself  all  alone  in 
the  world.  Tlie  priest  stood  looking  at  the  face  of  the 
dead  for  some  time  witli  tliat  same  gloom  upon  liis 
face  which  had  been  tliere  on  the  preceding  day, 
when  lie  left  that  bedside.  At  lengtli  he  turned  to 
Mimi. 

"  Child,''  said  lie,  in  a  voice  full  of  pity,  "  I  will  not 
attempt  to  utter  any  words  of  condolence.  I  know 
well  how  the  heart  feels  during  the  first  emotions  of 
sorrow  over  bereavement.  Words  are  useless.  I  can 
only  point  you  to  Heaven,  where  all  comfort  dwells, 
and  direct  you  to  remember  in  your  prayers  him  who 
lies  here.  The  cliurch  is  yours,  with  all  her  holy 
offices.  The  dearest  friend  must  turn  away  from  the 
dead,  but  the  church  remains,  and  follows  him  into 
the  other  world.  Your  heart  may  still  be  consoled,  for 
you  can  still  do  sometliing  for  tlie  dear  fatlier  whom 
you  loved.  You  can  pray  for  the  soul  of  the  departed, 
and  thus  it  will  seem  to  you  as  though  you  have  not 
altogether  lost  liim.  He  will  seem  near  you  yet  wlien 
you  pray  for  him  ;  your  spirit  will  seem  to  blend  with 
his  ;  his  presence  will  seem  about  you.  And  besides, 
my  dear  child,  this  also  I  wish  to  say :  you  are  not 
altogether  alone  in  the  world.  I  will  watch  over  you 
till  you  go  wherever  3'ou  may  wish.  It  is  not  much 
that  I  can  do  ;  but  perhaps  I  can  do  for  you  all  tliat 
you  may  now  wisli  to  be  done  for  yourself.  Think  of 
this,  tlien,  dear  child,  and  whenever  you  wish  to  have 
a  friend's  advice  or  assistance,  come  to  me." 

To  this  Mimi  listened  with  streaming  eyes ;  and  as 
the  priest  ended,  she  pressed  his  hand  gratefully,  and 
uttered  some  unintelligible  words.  His  offer  had 
come  to  her  like  balm.     It  did  not  seem  now  as  though 


A    TALE   OF  A CA D/A . 


105 


as 

land 

Iliad 

igh 


Rhe  was  so  desolate,  for  she  had  learned  already  to 
love  the  good  priest  with  sonietliing  of  a  daughter's 
feelings,  and  to  trust  in  him  profoundly. 

Laborde  was  buried  in  tlie  little  churchyard  of 
Grand  Pre  ;  and  now,  in  addition  to  the  })angs  of  be- 
reavement, Mimi  began  to  feel  otlior  cares  about  her 
future.  What  was  slie  to  do  ?  Could  slie  go  back  to 
France  ?  That  was  her  only  present  course.  But 
how?  She  could  not  go  in  tlie  Aigle,  for  that  frigate 
had  left  the  day  after  her  arrival,  not  having  any  time 
to  spare.  There  was  no  other  way  of  going  to  France 
now,  except  by  going  first  to  Louisbourg,  and  taking 
a  ship  from  that  place.  But  she  was  not  left  very 
long  in  suspense,  for,  two  or  three  days  after  her 
father's  burial,  the  Count  de  Cazeneau  came  to  see  her. 

"  I  hope,"  he  began,  ''  that  it  is  not  necessary  for 
me  to  say  to  you  how  deeply  I  sympathize  with  you 
in  your  bereavement,  for  I  myself  have  my  own  be- 
reavement to  mourn  over — the  loss  of  my  best,  my 
only  friend,  the  friend  of  a  lifetime,  the  high-minded, 
the  noble  Laborde.  The  loss  to  me  is  irrevocable,  and 
never  can  I  hope  to  find  any  mere  friend  who  may  fill 
his  place.  We  were  always  inseparable.  We  were 
congenial  in  taste  i:nd  in  spirit.  My  coming  to 
America  was  largely  due  to  his  unfortunate  resolve 
to  come  here,  a  resolve  which  I  always  combated  to 
the  best  of  my  ability,  and  over  which  you  and  I  must 
now  mourn.  But  regrets  are  useless,  and  it  remains 
for  both  of  us  tv)  see  about  the  future." 

This  somewhat  formal  opening  was  quite  character- 
istic of  Cazeneau,  who,  being  of  a  distant,  reserved 
nature,  very  seldom  allowed  himself  to  unbend ;  and, 
though  he  threw  as  much  softness  into  his  voice  and 


J 

I 


i 


106 


77/A'  L/L  i '  AND    THE  CROSS. 


iiicinnor  as  he  was  capable  of  using,  yet  Miini  felt  re- 
pelled, and  dreaded  what  might  be  coming. 

'*  When  we  were  first  picked  up  by  the  Aigle,"  ho 
continued,  "  it  was  in  my  power  either  to  go  direct  to 
Louisbourg,  or  to  come  here,  and  then  go  on  by  land. 
1  chose  to  come  liere,  Ibr  two  reasons  ;  first,  because 
I  ho])ed  that  my  dear  I'riend  would  be  benelited  by 
reaching  the  land  as  soon  as  possil)le,  and  I  thought 
tiiat  the  pure,  I'resli  air,  and  genial  climate,  and  l)eau- 
tiful  scenery  of  this  lovely  i)lace  W(juld  exercise  upon 
him  an  immediate  eifect  tor  the  better.  Ancttlier  pur- 
pose wliich  1  had  was  an  oilicial  one.  1  wished  to  see 
this  place  and  this  i)eople  with  reference  to  my  own 
administration  and  designs  for  the  future.  Unhappily, 
my  hoi)es  for  my  friend  liave  proved  unfounded,  and 
my  only  consolation  is  that,  thougli  I  have  been  dis- 
appointed as  a  private  man  in  my  affections,  yet,  as 
a  public  ofHcial,  1  have  been  al)le,  during  my  sliort 
stay  here,  to  do  good  service  to  my  country,  in  a  way 
wliich  my  country's  enemies  shall  feel  at  a  vital  point 
before  another  year  has  passed  away." 

To  this  Mimi  had  notliing  to  say,  for  it  was  all  pre- 
liminary, and  slie  expected  something  more.  She 
therefore  waited  in  silence,  though  Avith  much  trepi- 
dation, to  see  wliat  it  iiiiglit  be  that  tliis  man  had  in 
view  with  regard  to  her.    Cazeneau  then  continued  :  — 

"  As  I  have  now  done  all  tliat  I  intended  to  do  in 
tliis  phice,  it  is  my  intention  to  set  forth  for  Louis- 
bourg by  land.  I  liave  some  faitliful  Indians  as  guides, 
and  the  journey  is  not  very  fatiguing.  In  Louisbourg 
you  will  be  able  to  obtain  every  comfort,  and  there 
will  bo  friends  and  associates  for  vou,  vour  own  social 
equals,  wlio  may  make  your  life  pleasantcr  than  it  has 
been  for  a  long  time." 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


107 


ho 


pre- 
She 
repi- 
1(1  in 
1:  — 
lo  in 
jouiri- 
■iiides, 
)ourg 
there 
socicil 
it  haa 


By  tiiis  Cazcneau  directly  stated  his  intention  of 
taking  Mimi  witli  liim  to  Lonishunrg  —  a  statement 
wliich  did  not  surprise  Miini,  lor  it  was  what  she  had 
ex[)ected.  Now,  however,  that  he  said  this,  and  in 
this  way,  without  pretending  to  ask  her  consent,  her 
trepidation  increased,  and  siie  thought  with  terror  over 
that  long  and  lonely  journey,  which  she  would  have  to 
make  with  this  man  and  a  hand  of  savages.  There 
was  nothing  else,  however,  to  he  done.  She  could 
neither  hope  nor  desire  to  remain  in  Grand  Pr^'.  Her 
position  was  a  painful  one,  and  the  only  ho])e  remain- 
ing was  that  of  returning  to  France.  And  to  go  to 
Louisbourg  was  the  snrest  way  of  doing  that.  One 
thing,  however,  she  could  not  help  asking,  for  this  she 
felt  to  be  a  matter  of  extreme  importance. 

"  Is  Pere  Michel  going?  " 

"  He  is,"  said  Cazeneau.  "  He  has  asked  permission 
to  go  with  our  party,  and  I  liave  granted  it." 

At  this  answer  a  great  relief  was  felt  by  Mimi,  and 
the  future  seemed  less  dark. 

^'  I  have  granted  it,"  said  Cazeneau,  ''  because  he 
Beems  a  harmless  man,  and  may  be  useful  in  various 
ways  to  me,  hereafter,  in  my  plans.  He  seems  to 
know  the  people  about  here.  I  dare  say  he's  been 
here  before. 

"  Your  position  at  Louisbourg,"  continued  Cazeneau, 
"  will  be  one  which  will  be  most  honorable :  as  the 
daughter  of  the  Count  de  Laborde,  you  will  receive 
universal  attention,  and  my  influence  shall  be  exert- 
ed to  make  everything  contribute  to  your  happiness. 
As  commandant,  I  shall,  of  course,  1)0  supreme  ;  my 
house  will  be  like  a  small  vice-regal  court,  and  the 
little  world  of  Louisbourg  will  all  do  homage  to  any 


108 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


!i 


I 


I 


::    \^. 


I     I 
1     ; 


I  I 


\     ' 


'    I 


ono  whom  I  may  hold  up  before  them  as  a  worthy 
object." 

Cazcneau  paused  after  he  had  said  tliis.  It  was  a 
speech  wliicli  was  uttered  slowly  and  with  empliasis, 
but  its  meaning  was  not  altogether  apparent  to  Minii. 
Still  there  was  enougli  of  it  intelligible  to  her  to  make 
it  seem  excessively  unpleasant.  What  he  exactly 
meant  was  of  no  importance,  the  general  meaning  be- 
ing certainly  this  :  that  he  designed  for  lier  some  pro- 
longed stay  there,  during  which  he  intended  to  se- 
cure homage  and  respect  for  her.  Now,  that  was  a 
thing  that  Mimi  recoiled  from  with  distaste.  She  had 
always  detested  this  man,  she  had  always  shrunk  from 
him.  Her  present  position  of  dependence  was  most 
bitter  ;  but  to  have  that  position  continue  was  intoler- 
able. It  was  as  thougli  he  tried  to  put  himself  into 
the  place  of  her  beloved  father, —  he,  whom  she  re- 
garded as  her  father's  evil  genius,  —  as  thougli  he  in- 
tended to  make  liimself  her  guardian,  and  introduce 
her  as  his  ward. 

"  You  speak,"  said  she,  in  a  trembling  voice,  "just 
as  —  as  if — I  —  you  supposed  that  I  was  going  to 
live  at  Louisbourg." 

"  And  where  else  do  you  wish  to  live  ? "  asked 
Cazeneau,  placidly. 

"  I  want  to  go  home,"  said  Mimi,  her  eyes  filling 
with  tears,  and  her  voice  sounding  like  the  wail  of  a 
child  that  has  lost  its  way, 

"  My  poor  child,"  said  Cazeneau,  more  tenderly  than 
he  had  yet  spoken,  "  you  evidently  do  not  understand 
your  position  as  j^et.  I  did  not  intend  to  say  any- 
thing about  it ;  but,  since  you  feel  this  way,  and  have 
spoken  so,  I  suppose  I  must  make  some  explanation. 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


109 


of    cl 


Well,  then,  my  poor  cliild,  wlion  yonr  fatlier  left  France 
on  this  vinfortiuiiite  errand,  he  turned  all  liis  property 
into  money,  expecting  to  nse  tliat  money  in  America 
ill  some  way,  in  that  mysterious  design  of  his  which 
brouglit  him  out  here.  All  this  money  was  on  hoard 
the  Aretlnise  witli  liiiii,  and  it  is  hardly  necessary  to 
say  that  it  was  all  lost.  I  know  that  his  grief  over 
this,  and  the  thouglit  that  he  was  leaving  you  penni- 
less, did  more  to  shorten  his  life  than  the  sufferings 
which  he  had  on  the  sea.  He  sank  under  it.  lie  told 
me  that  he  could  not  rally  from  it ;  and  it  was  his 
utter  hopelessness  that  made  him  give  way  so  com- 
pletely. So,  my  poor  child,  tliis  is  your  present  situ- 
ation :  your  father's  estates  are  sold,  and  arc  now  in 
the  hands  of  strangers  ;  your  father's  money  is  now  at 
the  bottom  of  tlie  Atlantic  Ocean  ;  so  that  to  return  to 
France  is,  for  tlie  present,  at  least,  not  to  be  thouglit  of, 

''  For  my  part,"  continued  Cazeneau,  as  Miiiii  sat 
there  dumb  witli  horror  at  hearing  this  fresh  and 
crushing  news,  ''  I  do  not  see  anything  in  your  situ- 
ation which  need  give  you  one  moment's  uneasiness. 
You  have  lost  your  fatlier,  but  your  father's  best  friend 
still  lives,  and  he  will  never  see  tlie  daughter  of  his 
friend  know  one  single  trouble,  if  he  can  help  it.  We 
were  more  than  brothers.  Suppose  you  try  to  tliink 
of  me  with  something  of  the  same  contidence  that 
your  fatlier  felt.  I,  for  my  part,  will  put  you  in  his: 
place.  You  shall  never  know  a  care.  You  may  con- 
sider yourself  rich.  You  shall  have  no  trouble  except 
that  deep  sorrow  which  you  I'eel  as  a  fond  daughter." 

"  I  cannot  live  in  America,"  moaned  ^limi,  despair- 
ingly, recoiling  in  her  heart  from  Cazeneau,  and  dread- 
ing him  more  than  ever.     "  I  cannot.     I  want  to  go 


ii 


i 


no 


yy/A'  y.//.  ]■  aad  ihe  cross. 


\  I 


lioine  ;  or,  if  I  Iwivc  no  Iioino,  I  want  to  go  to  France. 
1  will  enter  a  convent." 

Cazeneau  smiled  at  lliis. 

"  Sn^h  a  wisli,  (l(.'ar  cliild,"  sjiid  ]i(%  "  is  (|uile  nsilnral 
now,  in  (lie  iirst  fresluu'ss  of  vour  IxTeavenieni :  Itiit 
time  alleviiites  all  soi'row,  and  you  may  think  dill-  i- 
ontly  lierealter.  As  to  nsturnin^i;"  to  Fi'ance,  you  shall 
most  certainly  do  that.  1  intend  to  p)  hac-k  alter  a 
time  ;  and  you  will  once  moi*e  live  in  our  dear,  native 
land.  But,  lor  the  present,  let  ns  not  talk  of  these 
things.  L()uisl)()urg  is  now  our  destination.  Fear  noth- 
ing*. You  shall  not  know  a  cai'c.  Yon  sliall  Ik;  guardtMl 
from  every  want,  and  every  wisli  shall  ])e  gratified. 
You  shall  find  yourself  suri()nn<l('(l  hy  the  most  anx- 
ious, and  tender,  and  solicitou^i  care  for  your  hapj)i- 


ness. 


>) 


These  last  words  were  spoken  in  a  warmer  and 
more  impassioned  manner  tlian  Cazeneau  liad  thus  far 
used,  and  tlieir  eifect  upon  Mimi  was  so  much  the 
more  unpleasant.  He  tlien  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips 
with  res})ectful  affection,  and  took  his  departure. 

Mimi  was  for  a  time  quite  overwhelnie<l.  Tlie  sorrow 
which  she  had  experienced  for  her  father  gave  way  to 
a  new  feeling — one  of  terror,  deep,  dark,  and  irre- 
movable —  about  herself  and  her  own  future.  All  Caze- 
neau's  words  recurred  to  lier,  and  the  more  she  thought 
of  them,  the  more  hateful  did  they  seem.  Out  of  them 
all  several  things  appeared  plain  to  her  mind. 

First,  that  she  was  a  pauper.  Of  Cazeneau's  words 
she  did  not  doubt  the  truth.  It  seemed  in  the  high- 
est degree  probable.  She  had  all  along  known  that 
her  father  had  come  to  America  to  search  after  some 
of  the  Montresors,  and  to  made  reparation.     Cazeneau 


i-i 


A    TALI-:   OF  ACADIA. 


Ill 


now  lifid  infoniKMl  her  tli;il  lie  IukI  turiRMl  all  liis  f)i'()p- 
crty  into  iiionoy.  it  luiist  liavu  hrcii  i'or  that  ]>nrpns.'. 
I'lic  tli()M»:;lit  had  never  occiinnMl  to  her  hi'lor(;  :  hut, 
now  tliat  it  was  stated,  she  did  not  (h-eani  of  doiilttiiii;' 
it.      It  seemed  too  tlMlt;. 

Secondly,  she  saw  tliat  C'azonoan,  for  some  reason 
or  other,  was  detci-miiicd  to  kcc])  her  nn(K'r  Ins  con- 
trol, fie  w;is  dctci'mined  not  to  allow  her  to  retui'ii 
to  France,  and  not  to  enter  a  convent.  1I(>  was  hcnt 
upon  associatin.i;'  her  with  his  own  life,  and  cansinj^ 
her  to  he  adniii'eil  in  fjonishourj;-.  Added  to  this  was 
liis  promise  to  take  her  hack  to  Fninee  with  himself 
All  this  showed  that  he  would  on  no  acconnt  allow  lier 
to  part  with  him.  What  was  the  meaning-  ol"  it  all? 
And  now  tlie  thouglit  could  no  longer  he  kei)t  out  of 
lier  mind:  Cazeneau's  purimse  was  to  make  her  his 
wife. 

His  wife  ! 

The  tliouglit  was  to  her  most  odious  ;  hut,  having 
once  presented  itself,  she  could  not  argue  it  away,  nor 
could  she  get  rid  of  itatall.  Yes,  that  was  the  mean- 
ing that  lurked  hehind  his  words  all  the  time.  That 
was  the  meaning  of  his  promise  to  make  her  adnn'red 
and  happy. 

Finally,  she  remend)ered  how  he  had  stated  to  her 
the  fact  that  he  was  supreme  in  Louishourg,  and  that 
through  his  grandeur  she  was  to  receive  homage  from 
all  the  lesser  throng.  To  her  this  seemed  like  a  plain 
vitatement  that  she  was  in  his  power,  and  entirely  at 
his  mercv. 

And  now,  wdiat  could  she  do  ?  The  future  was 
worse  than  ever.  She  was  completely  in  the  power 
of  a  man  whom  she  detested — a  man  upon  wdiom  she 


112 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


\ 


•« 


\    .: 


1 


,' 

1 1 

. 

I  ■ 

:  i'    ; 

looked  {irt  lior  fatlior's  evil  p^cMiiiis,  as  one  wlioso  evil 
counsel  had  loii|^'  ag-o  led  Iilt  Hither  to  that  act  whieh 
he  had  atoned  for  by  remorse  and  (ksitii.  She  was 
now  in  the  hands  of  this  villain.  Kseape  seenie(l  im- 
possible. He  was  suiM-eme  here.  From  him  there 
was  no  appeal.  And  she  was  a  l)e^}j;ar.  Hut,  even 
if  she  were  rich,  what  hope  could  she  have  against 
him  ? 

As  she  asked  herself  this  question,  there  was  no 
answer.  She  did  not  know  what  she  could  do,  and 
could  scarcely  hope  that  she  would  ever  know. 

It  was  in  this  state  of  mln<l  that  Pere  ^lichel  found 
her,  on  the  evening  of  that  day.  Mimi  saw  his  arrival 
with  intense  delight.  IIcM-e  seemed  one  who  might 
relieve  her  in  her  distress.  Accordingly  she  pro- 
ceeded to  tell  him  her  whole  story,  all  the  words  of 
Cazeneau,  with  all  their  implied  meaning,  and  all  her 
own  fears,  from  beginning  to  end. 

The  priest  heard  her  narration  in  profound  silence, 
and  after  she  had  told  him  all,  he  remained  in  deep 
thought  for  some  time,  while  Mimi  sat  anxiously  await- 
ing what  he  might  say. 

''  My  dear  child,"  said  the  priest,  at  length,  "  it  is 
difficult  for  me  to  give  you  advice,  for  your  situation 
is  most  unpleasant,  and  most  distressing  to  me.  I  can 
only  entreat  you  to  put  your  trust  in  that  Heaven  who 
never  deserts  the  innocent.  You  must  go  to  Louis- 
bourg — there  is  no  hope  of  escaping  that.  Besides, 
you  yourself  wish  to  go  there.  The  Count  de  Caze- 
neau certainly  has  the  chief  power  there  ;  but  whether 
lie  is  omnipotent  remains  to  be  seen.  Who  knows 
what  other  powers  may  be  there  ?  I  have  known 
cases  where  the  commandant  has  had  powerful  rivals, 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


113 


—  such  as  tlio  adnilnil  of  the   floct,  or  soino  suhordi- 
nato   who   had   iiifhu'iico   at   court    at   hoim-.     I    havti 
known  phicos   wIilto  tho   hishop  could   intcrfcro  and 
prevent  his  doin^r  wn)n^^     So,  he  cahn,  niv  daiio^htcr, 
put  your  trust  in  Heaven,  and  recollect  that  the  (•.•m- 
inandant  cannot  hreak  through  all  restraints,  hut  that 
there  must  he  some  harriers  that  he  cannot  force.     \{ 
you  wish  the  protection  of  the  church,  that  will  al- 
ways he  yours.     15eware  how  you  do  anything  rasjily. 
Confide  in  me.     Perhaps,  after  all,  these \rouhles  may 
have  a  good  end." 

8 


I 


lU 


THE  LILY  AND  THE  CROSS. 


CHAPTER   XL 


A   FRIEND   IN    NEED. 


170R  more  than  a  week  Claude  liad  been  kept  in 
•^  confinement,  and  had  seen  notliiiig  of  any  of  liis 
former  acquaintances.  'J'lie  couHnement  was  not  so 
close  as  it  might  have  been,  and  escape  was  not  abso- 
lutely impossible,  for  the  window  whicli  lighted  tlie 
chamber  was  merely  a  wooden  sasli,  with  four  panes  of 
glass,  which  Claude  could  liave  removed,  had  he  l)een 
so  disj30sed  ;  but  this  he  was  not  inclined  to  do,  and  for 
two  reasons.  One  reason  was,  l)e cause,  if  he  did  get 
out,  he  had  no  idea  wliere  to  go.  Annapcjlis  Royal 
was  the  nearest  settlement  belonging  to  tlie  Englisli ; 
but  he  did  not  know  in  wliich  direction  it  lay.  Ifo 
knew,  however,  that  between  Grand  Pre  and  that 
place  the  country  was  settled  by  tlie  French,  among 
whom  he  could  not  go  without  being  captured  by  Ids 
pursuers,  while  if  he  took  to  the  woods  he  would  be 
sure  to  fall  into  tlie  hands  of  the  Indians,  wlio  were 
the  zealous  allies  of  the  French.  ISich  a  prospect  was 
of  itself  sutHcient  to  deter  him  f.om  the  attempt  to 
escape.  I>ut  there  was  also  another  reason.  He  could 
not  bear  the  thought  of  leaving  Mimi  forever,  and 
never  seeing  her  again.  If  he  sliould  succeed  in 
escaping  to  Annapolis  Royal,  it  would  be  an  eternal 
separation   between   her  and    himself.      Grand   Pr^ 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


115 


seemed  pleasant  to  him  since  she  was  here  ;  and  he 
thought  it  better  to  be  a  prisoner  here  than  a  free  man 
elsewhere.  He,  tlierefore,  deliberately  preferred  to 
run  any  risk  that  might  be  before  him,  with  the  faint 
hope  of  seeing  Mimi  again,  rather  than  to  attempt 
flight. 

Wliat  had  happened  since  lie  had  come  here  he 
did  not  know  verv  cloarlv.  From  conversation  which 
he  had  overheard  lie  had  gathered  that  Laborde  was 
dead;  but,  when  he  asked  any  of  tliem  about  it,  tliey 
refused  to  tell  him  anything  at  all.  Claude  was,  there- 
fore, left  to  make  the  most  that  he  could  out  of  this 
vague  information.  But  the  intelligence  caused  him 
to  feel  much  anxiety  about  Mimi.  He  remembered 
well  all  that  she  had  ever  told  him,  and  could  not  help 
wondering  what  she  would  do  under  present  circum- 
stances. Would  she  be  willing  to  remain  in  the  neigh- 
borhood of  Cazeneau?  But  how  could  she  help  it? 
Would  not  Cazeneau  take  advantage  of  her  present 
loneliness  to  urge  forward  any  plans  that  he  might 
have  about  her? 

Already  the  suspicion  liad  come  to  Claude  tliat  Caze- 
neau had  certain  plans  about  Mimi.  What  lie  thouglit 
was  this:  that  Laborde  was  ricli,  that  Mimi  was  his 
heiress,  and  tliat  Cazeneau  was  a  man  of  profligate 
life  and  ruined  fortunes,  who  was  anxious  to  repair  his 
fortunes  by  marrying  this  heiress.  To  such  a  man  the 
disparity  in  their  years  would  make  no  difference,  nor 
would  he  particularly  care  whether  .Mimi  loved  him  or 
not,  so  long  as  he  could  make  her  his  wife,  and  gain 
control  over  her  property.  What  had  given  him  this 
idea  about  Cazeneau's  position  and  plans  it  is  dilH- 
cult   to   say;    but   it  was   probably  his    own  jealous 


U>.«  11  ipi«Ji»i^^p^^inw«"™ 


I 


116 


THE  LILY  AND  .THE  CROSS. 


I 


\    i 


■■^    \ 


\ 


ill! 


fears  about  Mimi,  and  liis  deep  detestation  of  his 
enemy. 

And  now  lie  began  to  cliafe  against  the  narrow  con- 
fines of  liis  clianiber  witli  greater  impatience.  lie 
longed  to  have  some  one  with  whom  lie  could  t;>lk. 
He  wondered  whether  Cazeneau  would  remain  hero 
much  longer,  and,  ii'  he  Avent  awa}',  whether  he  would 
take  Mimi  or  leave  her.  lie  wondered,  also,  whether 
he  would  be  taken  to  Louisbourg.  lie  felt  as  it'  he 
would  rather  go  there,  if  ^limi  was  to  go,  even  at  the 
risk  of  his  life,  than  remain  behind  after  she  had  left. 
But  all  his  thoughts  and  wonders  resulted  in  nothing 
whatever,  for  it  was  impossible  to  create  any  knowl- 
edge out  of  his  own  conjectures. 

He  was  in  the  midst  of  such  thoughts  as  these  wlien 
his  ears  were  attracted  by  the  sound  of  a  familiar 
voice.  He  listened  attentively.  It  was  the  voice  of 
P^re  Michel.  No  sooner  had  Claude  satisfied  himself 
that  it  was  indeed  the  priest,  than  he  felt  sure  that  he 
had  come  here  to  visit  him  ;  and  a  little  longer  wait- 
ing showed  that  this  was  the  case.  There  were  ad- 
vancing footsteps.  Madame  Comeau  opened  the  door, 
and  Pere  Michel  entered  the  chamber.  The  door  was 
then  shut,  and  the  two  were  alone. 

So  overcome  was  Claude  by  joy  that  he  flung  him- 
self into  the  priest's  arms  and  embraced  him.  The 
good  priest  seemed  to  reciprocate  his  emotion,  for 
there  were  tears  in  his  eyes,  and  the  first  words  that 
he  spoke  were  in  tremulous  tones. 

"  My  son,"  the  priest  commenced,  in  gentle,  paternal 
tones,  and  in  a  voice  that  was  tremulous  with  emotion, 
*'  you  must  calm  yourself"  Then,  suddenly  speaking 
in  English,  he  said,  "  It  is  necessaire  dat  we  sail  spil^ 
Ingeles,  for  ze  peuple  of  ze  house  may  suspeck 


>; 


w 


m 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


117 


Upon  this  Claude  poured  tbrtli  a  torrent  of  questions 
in  English,  asking  ahout  Laborde,  Cazenean,  Zae,  and 
Mimi.  It  will  not  be  necessary  to  report  the  words 
of  tlie  priest  in  liis  broken  English,  but  rather  to  set 
them  down  according  to  the  sense  of  them.  So  the 
priest  said, — 

"  You  speak  too  fast,  my  son.  One  thing  at  a  time. 
The  poo"  Laborde  is  dead  and  bui-ied.  The  Count 
Cazeneau  is  about  to  go  to  Louisbourg.  ^limi  is 
going  with  him." 

'*  Mimi  going  with  him  ! "  cried  Claude,  in  deep 
agitation. 

"  Be  calm,  my  son.  Do  not  speak  so  loud.  I  have 
told  the  people  of  this  house  that  your  life  is  in  danger, 
and  that  I  have  come  as  a  priest,  to  Iiear  your  last 
confession.  I  do  not  wish  them  to  suspect  my  real 
errand.  We  may  talk  as  we  wish,  only  do  not  allow 
yourself  to  be  agitated." 

'^  But  tell  nre,"  said  Claude,  in  a  calmer  voice, 
"how  is  it  possible  that  Mimi  can  trust  herself  with 
Cazeneau?  " 

"il/a/oi,"  said  the  priest,  "it  is  possible,  for  she 
cannot  help  it.  But  do  not  fear.  I  am  going  to  ac- 
company them,  and  as  far  as  my  feeble  power  can  do 
anything,  I  will  watch  over  her,  and  see  that  she  suf- 
fers no  injustice.  I  hope  that  Heaven  will  assist  her 
innocence  and  my  protection ;  so  do  not  allow  yourself 
to  be  uneasy  about  her ;  but  hope  for  the  best,  and 
trust  in  Heaven." 

At  this  Claude  was  silent  for  a  few  moments.  At 
length  he  said, — 

"  0,  Pere  Michel,  must  I  stay  here  when  she  goes  ? 
Can  you  tell  me  what  they  are  going  to  do  with  me  ?  " 


! 


p 

1- 

1 

f 

1 

'i 

MM  n."  m  ami 


118 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


I,  I 


"It  is  about  yourself  tint  I  am  going  to  speak,  and 
it  was  for  this  that  I  came,"  said  the  priest. 

"  Can  I  go  with  the  others  to  Louisljourg  ?  "  asked 
Claude,  eagerly ;  for  he  thought  only  of  l)eing  near 
Mimi. 

"  Heaven  forbid  !  "  said  the  priest.  "  It  is  in  a  far 
different  way  that  you  are  to  go.  Listen  to  me.  Tlie 
Count  de  Cazeneau  is  going  to  set  out  to-morrow,  with 
a  party  of  Indians  as  escort.  Mimi  is  to  be  taken  witli 
him.  I  am  going,  too.  It  is  liis  intention  to  leave  you 
here  for  a  time,  till  his  escort  can  return.  They  will 
then  take  you  to  Louisbourg.  If  lie  can  find  any  In- 
dians on  the  way  whom  lie  can  make  use  of,  ho  will 
send  them  here  for  you.  But  meantime  you  are  to  be 
kept  imprisoned  here. 

"  Now,  I  am  acquainted  with  the  Indians  better  than 
most  men.  I  lived  in  Acadie  formerly,  long  enough 
to  be  well  known  to  the  whole  tribe.  I  am  also  well 
known  to  the  Acadians.  Among  the  Indians  and  the 
Acadians  there  are  many  who  would  willingly  lay  down 
their  lives  for  me.  I  could  have  delivered  you  before 
this,  but  I  saw  that  you  were  not  in  any  immediate 
danger ;  so  I  preferred  postponing  it  until  the  Count 
de  Cazeneau  had  left.  I  do  not  wish  him  to  suspect 
that  I  have  any  interest  in  you ;  and  when  he  hears 
of  your  escape,  1  do  not  wish  him  to  think  that  I  had 
anything  to  do  with  it.  But  I  have  already  made  all 
the  plans  that  are  necessary,  and  the  men  are  in  this 
neighborhood  with  whom  I  have  arranged  for  your 
escape." 

"  What  is  the  plan?"  asked  Claude,  eagerly. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  said  the  priest.  ''  There  are  six 
Indians,  all  of  them  devoted  to  me.     They  will  guide 


/ 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


119 


tl 


you  to  a  place  of  safoty,  and  will  be  perfectly  faithful 
to  you  as  long  as  tliey  are  with  you.  They  are  ready 
to  go  anywliere  with  y(.u,  to  do  anytliiiig  for  you,  even 
to  the  extent  of  laying  down  tJieir  lives  for  you.  It 
is  for  my  sake  that  they  are  willing  to  sliow  this  de- 
votion. I  have  presented  you  to  tlieni  as  my  repre- 
sentative, and  they  Ijok  upon  you  as  they  woidd  look 
upon  me.  But,  first  of  all,  you  are  to  get  out  of  this. 
Can  you  open  that  window?  " 

"  Tt  was  fastened  tight  when  I  first  came,"  said 
Claude ;  '^  but  I  have  loosened  it,  so  that  I  can  take  it 
out  very  quickly." 

"  Very  good.  Now,  one  of  tliese  Indians  will  ])e 
here  to-morrow  night.  We  shall  leave  to-nu)rrow 
morning;  and  I  do  not  want  you  to  be  rescued  till 
after  our  departure.  At  midnight,  to-morrow,  then, 
the  Indian  will  be  here.  He  will  give  a  sound  like  a 
frog,  immediately  outside,  under  the  window,  lou 
must  then  open  the  window.  If  you  see  him,  or  hear 
him,  you  must  then  get  out,  and  he  will  take  you  to 
the  woods.  After  that  he  and  the  rest  of  the  Indians 
will  take  you  through  the  woods  to  Port  Royal,  which 
they  call  Annapolis  Royal.  Here  you  will  be  safe  from 
Cazeneau  until  such  time  as  may  suit  you  to  go  back 
to  Boston.  Annapolis  Royal  is  about  twenty-four 
leagues  from  this  place,  and  you  can  easily  go  there 
in  two  days." 

Claude  listened  to  all  tiiis  without  a  word  ;  and, 
after  the  priest  had  ended,  he  remained  silent  for  some 
time,  with  liis  eyes  fixed  on  the  floor. 

"  The  Indians  will  be  armed,"  said  the  priest,  "and 
will  have  a  rifle  and  a  sword  for  you.  So  you  need 
have  no  trouble  about  anything." 


i-. 


1, ' 


H     ■ 
:'  ■  I 
1^  ^'t 


i!  ! 


^■^^;   1 1 


'^t20 


•-Wv***-^" 


T//E  LIL  V  AND    THE  CROSS. 


"  ^fy  dear  Pore  Michel,"  said  Claude,  at  last,  "  you 
lay  me  under  very  great  obligations  ;  but  will  you  not 
add  to  them  by  allowing  nie  to  select  my  own  route  ?" 

"Your  own  route?"  asked  tlie  priest.  "  What  do 
you  mean?  You  dijn't  know  tlie  country,  especially 
the  woods,  while  these  Indians  will  l)e  at  liome  there." 

"What  I  mean  is  this,"  said  Claude  :  "  will  you  not 
allow  me  the  use  of  this  Indian  escort  in  another 
direction  than  the  one  you  mention?" 

"  Another  direction  ?  Why,  where  else  can  you  pos- 
sibly go?     Annapolis  is  the  nearest  place  for  safety." 

"  I  should  very  much  prefer,"  said  Claude  "  to  go 
to  Canso." 

"  To  Canso  !  "  said  the  priest,  in  great  surprise  ;  "  to 
Canso  !    Why,  you  would  come  on  our  track  !  " 
-  "  That  is  the  very  reason  why  I  wisli  to  go  there. 
Once  in  Canso,  I  should  be  as  safe  as  in  Annapolis." 

The  priest  shook  his  head. 

"  From  what  I  hear,  Canso  cannot  be  a  safe  place 
for  you  very  long.  P^ngland  and  France  are  on  tlie 
eve  of  war,  and  Cazeneau  expects  to  get  back  Acadie 
—  a  thing  that  is  very  easy  for  him  to  do.  But  why 
do  you  wish  to  venture  so  near  to  Louisburg?  Caze- 
neau will  be  there  now  ;  and  it  will  be  a  very  different 
place  from  what  it  would  have  been  had  you  not 
saved  Cazeneau  from  the  wreck,  and  made  him  your 
enemy." 

"  My  dear  Pere  Michel,"  said  Claude,  "  I  will  be 
candid  with  you.  The  reason  why  I  wish  to  go  in 
that  direction  is  for  the  sake  of  being  near  to  Mimi, 
and  on  account  of  the  hope  I  have  that  I  may  rescue 
her." 

"  Mimi !  Rescue  her ! "  exclaimed  the  priest,  aston- 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


121 


jj 


Do 
ill 
iii, 
ue 


isliecl,  not  at  the  young  mim's  feelings  towards  Minii, 
for  those  he  had  ah'eady  discovered,  hut  rather  at 
tlie  bokhiess  of  liis  plan,  — '' rescue  her!  Why  how 
can  you  possibly  hope  Ibr  tliat,  when  slie  will  he  under 
the  vigilant  eye  of  Cazeneau?" 

"  I  will  hope  it,  at  any  rate,"  said  Claude.  ^'  Be- 
sides, Cazeneau  will  not  be  vigilant,  as  he  will  not 
suspect  that  he  is  Ibllowed.  His  Indians  will  suspect 
nothing.  1  may  be  able,  l)y  means  of  my  Indians,  to 
entice  her  away,  especially  if  you  prepare  her  mind 
for  my  enterprise." 

The  priest  was  struck  by  this,  and  did  not  have  any 
argument  against  it ;  yet  the  project  was  evidently 
distasteful  to  him. 

''  It's  madness,"  said  he.  ^'  ^ly  poor  boy,  it  may 
cost  you  your  life." 

^'  Very  well,"  said  Claude  ;  "  let  it  go.  I'd  rather 
not  live,  if  I  can't  have  Mhni." 

Tiie  priest  looked  at  him  sadly  and  solemnly. 

"  My  poor  boy,"  said  he,  '^  has  it  gone  so  far  as  that 
with  you  ?  " 

'' As  far  as  that  —  yes,"  said  Claude,  "and  farther. 
Recollect  1  saved  her  life.  It  seems  to  me  as  if 
Heaven  threw  her  in  my  way;  and  I'll  not  give  her 
up  without  striking  a  l)h)\v.  Think  of  that  scoundrel 
Cazeneau.  Think  of  the  danger  she  Is  in  while  under 
his  power.  There  is  no  liope  for  her  if  he  once  gets 
her  in  Louisbourg;  the  only  hope  for  her  is  befoi-e  she 
reaches  that  place  ;  and  the  only  one  who  can  save  her 
is  myself  Are  my  Indians  faithful  for  an  enterprise 
of  that  kind  ?  " 

"  I  have  already  told  you,"  said  the  priest,  "  that 
they  would  all  lay  down  their  lives  for  you.     They 


:! 


1  1 

i 

|i    : 

lii 


122 


TJ/I£  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


will  go  wherever  yon  lead.  And  now,  my  dear  son," 
continued  the  priest,  "  1  did  not  think  that  you  would 
dream  of  an  enterprise  like  this.  Hut,  since  you  have 
made  the  proposal,  and  since  you  are  so  earnest  about 
it,  wliy,  I  make  no  opi)osition.  1  say,  come,  in  Ileav- 
en's  name.  Follow  after  us;  and,  if  you  can  come  up 
with  us,  and  cifcct  a  cfminumication  with  Mimi,  do  so. 
Your  Indians  must  be  careful ;  and  you  will  find  tliat 
they  can  be  trusted  in  a  matter  of  tliis  kind.  If  I  see 
that  you  are  coming  up  witli  us,  and  Inid  any  visitors 
from  you,  I  will  j)repare  ]\limi  for  it.  But  su[)pose  you 
succeed  in  rescuing  her,"  added  tlie  priest ;  ^'  have  you 
thought  what  you  would  do  next  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Claude ;  "  nor  do  I  intend  to  tliink  about 
that.  It  will  depend  upon  where  I  am.  If  I  am  near 
Canso,  I  shall  go  there,  and  trust  to  linding  some  fish- 
erman ;  if  not,  I  shall  trust  to  my  Indians  to  take  us 
back  through  the  woods  to  Annapolis.  But  there's 
one  thing  that  you  might  do." 

"What?" 

"  Zac  —  is  he  on  board  the  schooner,  or  ashore  ?  " 

"  The  skipper?  "  said  the  priest.  "  No.  I  have  not 
seen  him.  I  think  he  must  be  aboard  the  schooner. 
It  is  my  intention  to  connnunicate  with  him  before  I 
leave  this  place." 

"  Do  so,"  said  Claude,  eagerly ;  "  and  see  if  you 
can't  get  him  free,  as  you  have  managed  for  me ;  and 
if  you  can  persuade  him,  or  beg  him  for  me,  to  sail 
around  to  Canso,  and  meet  me  there,  all  will  be  well. 
That  is  the  very  thing  we  want.  If  he  will  only 
promise  to  go  there,  I  w411  push  on  to  Canso  myself, 
at  all  hazards." 

The  priest  now  prepared  to  go.     A  few  more  words 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


123 


J) 


you 
and 
sail 
well, 
only 
self. 

^ords 


were  exchanged,  after  which  Claude  and  IVro  Michel 
embraced.     The  priest  kissed  him  on  both  cheeks. 

'^  Adieu,  my  dear  son,"  said  he.  ^^  I  hope  we  may 
meet  again." 

^'  Adieu,  dear  Pere  Micliel,"  said  Claude.  '^  I  shall 
never  forget  your  kindness." 

With  this  farewell  the  two  separated  ;  tlie  priest 
went  out,  and  the  door  was  fastened  again  upon 
Claude. 

For  tlie  remainder  of  that  night,  Chiude  did  not 
sleep  much.  His  mind  was  lillcd  with  tlie  new  pros- 
pect tliat  the  priest's  message  liad  opened  before  him. 
The  thouglit  of  being  free  once  more,  and  at  tlie  head 
of  a  band  of  devoted  followers,  on  tlie  track  of  Minii, 
filled  him  with  excitement.  That  lie  would  be  aide 
to  overtake  the  party  of  Cazeneau,  he  did  not  doubt ; 
that  he  would  be  able  to  rescue  Mimi,  he  felt  c(Uifi- 
dent.  The  revulsion  from  gloom  and  despondency  to 
hope  and  joy  was  complete,  and  the  buoyant  nature  of 
Claude  made  the  transition  an  easy  one.  It  was  with 
difficulty  that  he  ctmld  prevent  himself  from  bursting 
forth  into  songs.  But  this  would  have  been  too  dan- 
gerous, since  it  would  have  attracted  the  attention  of 
the  people  of  the  house,  and  led  them  to  suspect  that 
the  priest  had  spoken  other  words  to  him  than  those 
of  absolution  ;  or  they  might  report  this  sudden  change 
to  Cazeneau,  and  tiicreby  excite  his  suspicions. 

The  next  day  came.  Claude  knew  that  on  this  day 
Cazeneau  and  his  party  had  left,  for  he  overheard  the 
people  of  the  house  speaking  about  it.  According  to 
their  statements,  the  party  had  left  at  about  four  in 
the  morning.  This  filled  Claude  with  a  fever  of  im- 
patience, for  he  saw  that  this  first  day's  march  would 


t      .      r 


124 


THE  LIL  V  AND    THE  CROSS. 


!! 


I  ! 


^*i     \ 


put  them  II  long  way  alioad,  and  make  it  diHicult  for 
him  to  catch  up  with  tlicin.  But  there  was  only  one 
day,  and  he  tried  to  comfort  liimself  witli  the  thouglit 
that  lie  could  travel  faster  than  tiie  otheis,  and  also 
that  the  priest  and  Mimi  would  hoth  manage  to  retard 
their  progress,  so  as  to  allow  him  to  catch  u}). 

The  day  passed  thus,  and  e\ening  came  at  last. 
Hour  after  hour  went  hy.  All  the  family  retired,  and 
the  house  was  still.  (Jlaude  tiien  slowly,  and  carefully, 
and  noiselessly  removed  the  window  from  its  place. 
Then  he  waited.  The  houis  still  jjassed  on.  At  last 
he  know  that  it  must  he  about  midnight. 

Suddenly  he  heard,  innnediately  outside,  a  low,  gut- 
tural sound  —  the  well-known  sound  of  a  frog.  It  was 
the  signal  mentioned  by  the  [)riest.  The  time  had 
come. 

He  put  his  head  cautiously  outside.  Crouched 
there  against  the  wall  of  the  house,  close  underneath, 
he  saw  a  dusky  figure.  A  low,  whispered  warning 
came  up.  Claude  res})onde(l  in  a  simihir  manner. 
Then,  softly  and  noiselessly,  he  climbed  out  of  the 
window.  His  feet  touched  the  ground.  No  one  had 
heard  him.     He  was  saved. 


..i,i 


\  I 


A    TALE  or  ACADIA, 


125 


also 


CHAPTER  XII. 


had 


THE   PARSON   AMONG   THE   PHILISTINES. 

A    MAP  of  tilis  part  of  Amcrini,  in  tliis  year,  1743, 
>^^  would    show   a    very    diilerciit    scuiio  from   that 
winch  is  presented  hy  one  of  the  present  date.     ^J^lie 
country  held  by  the  Englisli  did  not  reach  beyond  the 
Kennebec,  although  claimed  by  thoin.    But  north  of  this 
river  it  was  all  in  the  virtual  possession  of  tlie  French, 
and  on  the  map  it  was  disiinguished  by  the  French 
colors.    A  line  drawn  from  the  mouth  of  the  Penobscot, 
due  north,  to  the  River  St.   Lawrence,  divided  New 
England  from  the  equally  extensive  territoiy  of  New 
Scotland,  or  Nova  Scotia.     This  New  England  was 
bordered  on  the  east  by  Nova  Scotia,  on  the  north  by 
the  River  St.  Lawrence,  and  on  tlie  west  by  the  prov- 
ince  of  New  York.     But  in  New  England  tlie  French 
colors  prevailed  over  quite  one  half  of  this  territory ; 
and  in  Nova  Scotia,  though  all  was  claimed  by  the 
English,  every  part  was  actually  held  by  the  French, 
except  one  or  two  points  of  a  most  unimportant  char- 
acter. 

Looking  over  such  a  map,  we  perceive  the  present 
characteristics  all  gone,  and  a  vast  wilderness,  full  of 
roaming  tribes  of  Indians,  filling  the  scene.  North  of 
Boston  there  are  a  few  towns ;  but  beyond  the  little 
town  of  Falmouth,  the  English  settlements  are  all  called 


12G 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS, 


■  'A 


!  ■  ,r 


Fort  tin's  5111(1  Fort  tluit.  V\^  tlic  valloy  of'tlic  rvcnnobcc 
is  the  niiiikof  51  road  to  Qucht'c  ;  and  alxnit  hall" way,  at 
tlio  head  wators  of  the  Kcnncbc'c,  a  point  is  inarkod 
on  tlio  ina[)  witli  tlu;so  words :  ^^  halhin  and  French 
retidczvous.  Krfrcnuli/  jirojxr/or  a  fort,  ic/iUh  tvouhl 
ri'.stniin  the  French  and  cnrh  the  Abcnakkl  Indlan.sy 
And  also  :  *'  From  QueUc  to  Kennct)ek  Hirer  mouth,  )toi 
much  aljove  Jndf  icay  to  Boston,  and,  one  third  to  New 
York,  thence  Ity  that  It.  and  ye  Chaudiere  ye  road  to 
Canada  is  short:^ 

North  of  the  St.  Lawrence  is  a  vast  country,  which 
is  called  New  France.  As  Old  France  and  Old  Eng- 
land struggle  for  the  supremacy  in  the  old  world,  so 
New  France  and  New  England  struggle  for  the  su- 
premacy in  the  new  world,  and  the  hone  of  contention 
is  this  very  district  alluded  to,  —  this  border-ground, 
—  called  by  the  French  L'Acadie,  but  claimed  by  tho 
English  as  Nova  Scotia,  wdiich  bordered  both  on  New 
England  and  New  France. 

This  debatable  territory  on  the  map  is  full  of  vast 
waste  spaces,  together  with  the  names  of  savage  tribes 
never  heard  of  before  or  since,  some  of  which  are  fa- 
miliar names,  merely  spelled  in  an  unusual  manner, 
while  others  owe  their  origin,  perhaps,  to  the  imagina- 
tion of  the  map-maker  or  his  informant.  Thus,  for  ex- 
ample, we  have  Massasuk,  Arusegenticook,  Saga  Da- 
hok,  and  others  of  equally'  singular  sound. 

In  this  debatable  territory  are  numerous  forts,  both 
French  and  English.  These  are  situated,  for  the  most 
part,  in  the  valleys  of  rivers,  for  tiie  very  good  reason 
that  these  valleys  afford  the  best  places  for  settlement, 
and  also  for  the  further  reason  that  they  are  generally 
used  as  the  most  convenient  routes  of  travel  by  those 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


127 


wlio  go  by  land  from  one  post  to  aiiotluT.  Tliopo  forts 
are  mimcrons  on  tlu^  west  of  Now  Mn^land  ;  tlioy  also 
stud  tlio  nia})  in  various  places  towards  the  north. 
The  valley  of  the  St.  .lohn,  in  Nova  Seotia,  is  niarkecl 
by  several  of  those.  Farther  on,  the  important  isth- 
nnis  wliieh  connects  the  peninsula  of  Nova  St^otiawith 
the  main  lan«l  is  protected  by  the  strong  post  called 
Fort  IJeausejour. 

In  tliis  peninsula  of  Nova  f^cotia,  various  settlements 
are  mjirked.  One  is  named  Minas,  whicli  is  also  known 
as  (jJrand  Pro,  a  larg-e  and  important  connnunity,  situ- 
ated in  one  of  the  most  beautiful  and  fertile  valleys  in 
America.  In  tlie  neighborhood  of  this  are  a  lialf  dozen 
points,  marked  with  the  general  name  of  Frencli  set- 
tlements, while  tlio  vacant  places  between  and  beyond 
are  marked  with  tlie  name  Mic  Macs,  which  is  the  titlo 
of  the  Indians  who  inhal)it  Nova  Scotia.  One  post 
here,  however,  possesses  a  singular  interest  in  the  eyes 
of  the  good  people  of  Boston.  It  is  marked  on  tho  map 
by  tho  name  of  Annapolis,  once  the  Fnmcli  Port  Royal, 
but  now  the  only  Englisli  i)ost  of  any  consofiuenco  in 
all  Nova  Scotia.  Here  resides  tlio  handful  of  Englisli- 
men  who  claim  to  rule  the  province.  But  tlio  govern- 
ment is  a  mockery,  and  tlio  French  set  it  at  defianco. 
If  England  wishes  to  assert  her  power  hero,  she  must 
have  a  fardiflerent  ibrce  in  the  country  from  tho  band- 
ful  of  ragged  and  ill-armed  soldiers  who  mount  guard 
on  the  tumble-down  forts  at  Annapolis. 

Beyond  all  tliose,  at  the  extreme  oast  of  the  penin- 
sula, is  an  island  called  by  tlie  French  lie  Iioyalo,  and 
by  the  English  Capo  Breton.  This  is  bold  by  tho 
French.  Hero  is  their  greatest  stronghold  in  America, 
except  Quebec,  and  one,  too,  which  is  regarded  by 


^Miii^JM<<ii  ".w    I  ^^"P^W^WIWP 


v.iiii  I  liiiij..  pw^^j^^ifr 


1v 


'J;  I 


t  '   I 


:  i 


hi       f 


128 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


Boston  witli  greater  jealousy  and  dread  than  the  latter, 
since  it  is  actually  nearer,  is  open  winter  and  summer, 
and  can  strike  a  more  innnediate  blow. 

This  was  the  extreme  eastern  outpost  of  Frencli 
power  in  America.  Here  the  French  colonies  readied 
out  tlieir  arms  to  the  motlicr  country.  Here  began 
that  great  chain  of  fortresses,  which  ran  up  the  valleys 
of  naviga])le  rivers,  and  connected  witli  tlie  great  for- 
tress of  Quebec  the  ahnost  impregnable  outpMist  of  Ti- 
conderoga,  and  the  posts  of  Montreal  Island.  From 
these  the  cliain  of  military  occupation  extended  itself 
towards  the  south,  through  tlie  valleys  of  tlie  Ohio  and 
the  Mississippi,  until  tliey  W(3re  connected  with  the 
flourishing  colony  at  New  Orleans. 

Thus  it  was,  and  witli  these  advantages,  tliat  the 
French  engaged  in  tlie  great  and  momentous  conflict 
with  the  English  for  the  possession  of  America,  and  on 
the  side  of  the  former  were  the  greater  part  of  the 
wild  and  warlike  Indians. 

And  now  let  us  return  to  our  friend  Zac,  who  for 
some  time  has  been  lost  sight  of. 

When  the  Aigle  came  to  anchor,  the  schooner  did 
the  same,  and  lay  under  her  guns  some  miles  out  from 
the  shore.  Zac  had  been  allowed  a  certain  amount  of 
freedom,  for,  as  the  lieutenant  had  promised,  his  hands 
had  not  been  bound.  The  same  liberty  Avas  allowed 
to  the  others  on  board.  Six  French  seamen  were  on 
board,  who  navigated  the  schooner,  and  acted  as  her 
guard.  These  were  armed,  while  Zac  and  his  friends 
were  all  unarmed.  While  sailing  up  the  bay  this  guard 
was  hardly  necessary,  as  the  schooner  was  under  the 
guns  of  the  frigate  ;  but  afterwards  the  necesoity  was 
more  apparent. 


lid 

of 
ndrf 
od 
on 
10  r 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


12y 


The  Aiglc  could  not  wait  at  Grand  Pre  longer  than 
was  requisite  to  land  those  wlio  were  going  ashore. 
The  boat  tliat  landed  these  brouglit  back  a  half  dozen 
Acadians  from  Grand  Prd,  whom  it  left  on  board  tlie 
schooner.  Then,  taking  back  again  her  own  seamen, 
the  Aigle  spread  her  wliite  wings  and  sailed  away  for 
La  Belle  France. 

Zac  saw  this  cliange  in  affairs  with  varied  feelings. 
First  of  all,  lie  had  lialf  hoped  that  lie  might  be  let  olF^ 
after  all ;  partly  because  it  was  not  a  time  of  formal  war, 
and  partly  because  the  schooner  had  saved  some  im- 
portant lives,  and  therefore,  at  the  very  least,  ought  to 
be  let  off.  But  this  change  in  her  masters  dispelled 
Zac's  hope,  and  made  him  see  that  there  was  not  at  all 
any  prospect  of  an  immediate  release.  From  that 
moment  Zac  gave  up  all  hope  of  any  release  whatever, 
and  began  to  see  that,  if  escape  were  to  be  made,  it 
must  be  effected  by  his  own  skill  and  daring. 

The  new  comers  seemed  willing  to  maintain  the  old 
state  of  things,  and  showed  no  inclinaiion  to  keep  their 
prisoners  in  bonds.  They  were  a  good-natured  lot, 
with  simple,  unsophisticated  faces,  and  looked  with 
amiable  smiles  upon  the  schooner  and  its  company. 
Still,  they  were  all  stout,  able-bodied  fellows,  and  all 
were  armed.  The  leader  was  a  man  of  about  forty, 
who  seemed  to  be  regarded  by  the  rest  with  consider- 
able respect.  He  was  also  able  to  speak  a  few  words 
of  English.  They  contented  themselves  with  keeping 
a  general  lookout  over  the  schooner  and  its  crew,  and 
taking  turns  at  the  night  watch. 

In  fact,  the  simple  confidence  of  the  Acadians  in  the 
security  of  their  guard  seemed  to  be  justified  by  cir- 
cumstauces.  These  six  stout  men  were  armed  ;  Zac 
9 


i 

1;   ; 
it 


'  i  ' 

I 

i'i 


130 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


and  liis  followers  were  unarmed.  All  the  floating  craft 
in  the  Basin  belonged  to  the  Acadians,  and  all  the  set- 
tlements. For  Zac  to  escape  by  water  was  scarcely 
possible,  and  to  get  olf  by  land  was  not  to  be  thought 
of.  'i'he  nearest  English  settlement  was  many  miles 
away,  and  to  reaeli  it  he  would  have  to  run  the  gant- 
let of  a  population  of  French  and  Indians. 

Day  after  day  passed,  and  Zac  spent  most  of  the 
time  in  meditating  over  his  situation  and  keeping  liis 
eyes  and  ears  on  the  alert.  He  understood  })retty 
well  that  to  the  villany  of  Cazeneau  were  due  both  his 
own  captivity  and  tlie  more  serious  danger  wnicli 
threatened  his  friend.  It  was  from  Margot  that  he 
had  first  heard  of  Cazeneau  as  an  enemy,  and  little 
more  had  he  been  able  to  find  out  beyond  what  she 
had  told  him  in  the  brief  conversation  already  related. 
The  illness  of  Laborde  had  necessitated  her  attendance 
on  her  master  and  mistress,  and  prevented  any  further 
confidences.  Only  a  few  occasional  greetings  were 
possible  after  that.  Then  followed  the  arrival  of  the 
Aigle,  and  the  transfer  of  Margot,  with  the  rest,  to  the 
French  frigate.  Zac  had  consecpiently  been  left  in  the 
dark  as  to  the  particular  villany  of  Cazeneau  towards 
Laborde  and  Mimi.  But  he  had  seen  enough  and  felt 
enough  to  be  sure  that  his  enmity,  from  whatever 
cause  it  arose,  was  of  no  common  kind,  that  Claude 
was  in  great  danger,  and  that  he  himself  was  involved 
in  the  same  peril,  though  to  a  less  degree.  This  con- 
viction served,  therefore,  to  keep  his  mind  continually 
on  the  alert,  so  as  to  find  out  what  was  the  present 
situation  of  Claude,  and  also  to  devise  and  lay  hold  of 
some  plan  of  action  for  himself 

In  his  thoughts  the  good  Po'-e  Michel  was  suggested 


[ult 

11(1(3 
■1)11- 

illy 

ent 

of 

ted 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


131 


as  the  only  one  wlio  could  do  anytliing  for  either  of 
them.  What  his  influence  might  be,  he  could  not 
guess;  but  he  at  least  believed  in  his  iriendliiiess  and 
good  faith,  Jind  he  could  not  help  feeling  that  the  priest 
would  do  all  that  was  possible;.  It  seemed  to  him  not 
unlikely  that  tlie  i)riest  might  come  out  to  see  him, 
and  convey  to  him  some  information  about  the  present 
state  of  affairs  in  Grand  Pre.  And  besides  this,  he 
could  not  help  feeling  a  vague  hope  that,  even  if  tlie 
priest  were  unable  to  do  anything,  he  might  receive 
some  sort  of  a  message  from  one  whom  he  could  not 
help  as  regarding  in  the  light  of  a  friend  —  namely, 
the  amial)le  Margot. 

The  situation  had  been  accepted  by  the  rest  of  the 
ship's  company  without  any  great  display  of  emotion. 
Biler's  melancholy  remained  uncliaiiged,  and  still,  as 
of  yore,  he  passed  much  of  his  time  at  the  mast-head, 
contemplating  the  universe,  and  eating  raw  turnips. 
Jericho  remained  as  busy  as  ever,  and  cared  for  his 
pots,  and  his  kettles,  and  his  pans,  without  apparently 
being  conscious  that  his  master  was  a  slave  now,  as 
well  as  himself.  Upon  Terry,  also,  the  }^oke  of  captiv- 
ity lay  but  lightly.  It  was  not  in  the  nature  of  Terry 
to  be  downcast  or  sullen ;  and  the  simple  expedients 
which  had  led  him  to  fraternize  with  the  shipwrecked 
sailors  had  afterwards  enabled  him  to  fraternize  equally 
well  with  the  crew^  of  the  Aigle  that  had  been  put  on 
board.  These  had  gone,  and  it  remained  now  for  him 
to  come  to  an  understanding  with  the  Acadians.  Con- 
stant practice  had  made  hiin  more  capable,  and,  in  ad- 
dition to  his  own  natural  advantages,  he  had  also 
learned  a  few  French  words,  of  which  he  made  con- 
stant use  in  the  most  efficient  way.     The  Acadians 


I! 


I, 


132 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


responded  to  Terry's  advances  quite  as  readily  as  any 
of  the  others  liad  done ;  and  before  they  had  been  on 
board  one  day  they  were  all  singing  and  laughing  with 
the  merry  Irisli  lad,  and  going  into  fits  of  uproarious 
mirth  at  Terry's  incessant  use  of  the  few  French  words 
which  he  liad  learned ;  for  it  was  Terry's  delight  to 
stop  each  one  of  them,  and  insist  on  shaking  liands, 
wlienever  he  met  them,  siiying  at  the  same  time,  with 
all  tlie  gravity  in  the  world,  — 

''  Commy  voo  ]jortij  voo,  bony  tong.  Bon  jure, 
moosoo !  '■ 

Thus  nearly  a  week  passed,  and  during  all  that  time 
Zac  had  heard  nothing  about  the  fate  of  his  friends 
ashore.  Neither  the  priest  nor  Margot  sent  him  any 
message  Avhatever.  The  Acadians  themselves  did  not 
hold  any  communication  Avith  the  shore,  but  remained 
on  board  quite  placidly,  in  a  state  of  calm  content  — 
as  placidly,  indeed,  as  though  they  had  been  living  on 
board  the  Parson  all  their  li^  3S. 

During  all  the  time  Zac  had  been  meditating  over 
his  situation,  and  trying  to  see  his  way  out  of  it.  At 
length  a  ray  of  light  began  to  dawn  into  his  mind, 
which  illuminated  his  present  position,  and  opened  up 
to  him  a  way  of  action.  One  day  after  dinner,  while 
the  Acadians  were  lolling  in  the  sun,  and  while  Terry 
was  smoking  his  pipe  forward,  Zac  sauntered  up  to 
him  in  a  careless  fashion,  and  placing  himself  near 
Terry,  where  he  could  not  be  overheard,  he  began  to 
talk  in  an  easy  tone  with  the  other, 

"  Terry,  lad,"  said  he,  "  I'm  getting  tired  o'  this 
here." 

"  Faix,  an'  it's  mesilf  that's  been  waitin'  to  hear  ye 
gay  that  same  for  a  week  an'  more  —  so  it  is." 


I 


on 


11  to 


Itliis 


^e 


* 


« 


'I 


fi;( 


'  ilil 


|! 

' 

ff'^ 

1 

i 

111! 


Ml 


M 

till 


\ 

U I  ,  i  \ 

1 

d  i^ 

If 

i 

m  i  ' 

MLiiii 

A   TALE   OF  ACADIA, 


133 


"  Wal,  ye  see,  I  ben  a  tuniiii'  it  over  in  my  mind,  and 
hain't  altogether  seen  my  way  cXvmv  afore  ;  but  now  it 
i^eems  to  me  as  how  it's  a  burnin'  shame  to  stand  this 
liere  any  longer." 

"  Thrue  for  yon  ;  an'  so  it  is,"  said  Terry.  "  An'  so, 
of  ye've  got  any  thin'  on  yei*  mind  that  ye  want  to  do, 
why,  out  witli  it,  for  Fin  your  man." 

"  Wal,  ye  see,"  resumed  Zao,  "  it's  this  liere ;  I  don't 
want  to  go  away  out  o'  this  jest  yet." 

"  Not  go  away  !  Tare  an  ages,"  cried  Terry  ;  "  d'ye 
want  to  be  a  prisoner  ?  " 

"  Course  not.  I  mean  tliis  :  I  don't  want  to  go  an' 
leave  my  friend  here.  Metier,  in  the  hands  of  tlie  Phi- 
listines." 

"  Sure  ye  can't  do  anytliin'  for  liim  ;  an'  lie's  among 
his  own  kin  —  so  he  is  ;  I'or  he  jabl)ers  French  ay(|ual 
to  the  best  of  thim." 

"  No,  I  can't  do  anything  for  liim  as  I  am;  tliat's  a 
fact ;  and  so  Fm  l)ound  to  put  myself  in  a  position  whar 
lean  do  somethin' ;  that  is,  Fm  l)ound  to  seize  tliis 
here  schewner,  an'  bring  the  old  Parson  back  to  tlie 
fold." 

"  Arrah,  sure,  an'  tliat's  the  right  sort  of  talk  —  so  it 
is  ;  an'  it's  mesilf  that's  glad  to  hear  ye.  An'  so,  what 
is  it,  captain  dear?  Out  with  it.  Tell  me  what  yer 
plan  is,  an'  I'm  wid  ye  —  so  I  am." 

"  I  think,  Terry,  that  we  can  manage  to  get  the 
schewner  from  these  chaps  —  can't  Ave  ?  " 

''  Sure  we  can.  Sure,  an'  I'd  ingage  to  do  it  alone, 
almost." 

"  They  don't  watch  much." 

"  Not  a  bit  of  it." 

"  The  two  that  watch  at  night  sleep  half  the  time." 


;]       i^ 


134 


THE  LILY  AND  THE  CROSS. 


"  Sure,  an'  that's  tlinio  for  yon,  for  I've  seed  tliim  at 
it  whin  I  was  asleep  mesilf." 

"  We  can  git  Jericho  to  l)ar  down  tlie  cabin  door, 
Terry,  an'  then  you  an'  1  can  seize  tlie  two  on  deck." 

"  Aisy  enougli  —  so  it  is.  They'll  all  be  dead  asleep 
—  so  they  will." 

"  Wal,  thar  we"ll  liave  them  :  an'  then  I  hope  to  be 
able  to  bring  a  pressure  on  the  natyves  of  these  re- 
gions by  which  J  may  git  my  friend  out  of  their 
clutclies." 

'■'■  Sure,  an'  I  don't  onderstand  ye  at  all,  at  all." 

"  Wliy,  I'll  have  these  six  Acadians  prisoners,  an' 
then  I'll  sail  up  off  Grand  Pre,  an'  tlireaten  to  cut  the 
throats  of  all  of  them  if  they  don't  send  olf  Metier  to 
me  in  ten  minutes." 

"  Tare  an'  ages  !  "  cried  Terry.  "  Wlioroo  !  but 
isn't  that  tlie  plan  ?  It  is.  It  bates  the  wurruld  —  so 
it  does.     An  whin'U  ye  begin,  captain  darlint?" 

"  To-night,"  said  Zac. 


n. 


v\ 


.|n. 

i: 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


135 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


A   STROKE   FOR   LIBERTY. 


ZAC  and  Terry  talked  for  a  long  time  over  the  plan, 
trying  to  chat  in  an  off-hand  and  careless  manner, 
so  as  not  to  excite  any  snspicion.  No  suspicion  ap- 
peared to  be  raised  among  the  Acadians,  who  took  no 
notice  of  tliem  whatever.  So  Zac  and  Terry  had  suf- 
ficient opportunity  to  arrange  all  tlie  details  of  the 
plan,  and  it  was  decided  tliat  Terry  sliould  indicate  to 
Jericho  what  was  to  be  done  by  hiin.  It  was  agreed 
that  the  best  time  would  be  al)out  tliree  o'clock  in  the 
morning ;  for  then  the  Acadians  below  would  all  be  in 
their  soundest  sleep,  wliile  those  wlio  kept  watch  on 
deck  would  probably,  in  accordance  with  tlieir  usual 
careless  fashion,  be  sunk  into  a  slumber  no  less  sound. 
Terry  at  length  left  Zac,  and  moved  about  in  a  desul- 
tory fasliion,  after  which  he  finally  settled  down  among 
the  Acadians,  and  began  to  sing  to  them  the  immortal 
strain  of  St.  Patrick. 

Although  Zac  had  upon  his  mind  the  weight  of  such 
an  important  enterprise,  yet  it  did  not  at  all  interfere 
Avith  his  usual  slumbers.  He  went  to  bed  at  nine,  and 
slept  soundly.  At  about  half  past  two  he  awoke,  and 
waited  a  little  longer.  Then  he  roused  Terry  and  Jeri- 
cho. Terry  tlien  Avent  upon  deck  noiselessly,  and  re- 
connoitred.    It  was  as  they  had  hoped  it  would  be. 


!l;t 


»,i 


n 


136 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


\ 


Two  men  wcro  on  doclc  as  a  watcli,  but  both  were 
croucliod  uiHlor  i!it3  tallVail  fast  asleep.  Terry  pro- 
posed to  go  and  shut  down  the  cabin  door,  wliero  tlio 
rest  of  tlie  Aeadians  \v^ero ;  but  Zac  eoncbided  tliat  it 
wonld  l>e  best  lor  Jerielio  to  do  this,  so  that  in  case 
tlie  noise  should  wake  tlie  Wiitch,  he  and  Terry  might 
be  on  hand  to  deal  with  thcni.  Jeriehcj  was  now  sent 
aft,  charged  with  the  burden  of  jin  important  com- 
mission. He  went  soltly  and  swil'tly,  like  a  spirit  of 
night.  Ilis  whole  nature  seemed  changed  by  the  pur- 
pose before  him.  In  an  instant  lie  had  ceased  to  be 
the  lowly  slave  intent  on  cookery,  and  had  started  up 
into  the  attitude  of  an  African  warrior.  As  he  glided 
along,  Zac  and  'J'erry,  with  equal  noiselessness,  moved 
towards  the  slumbering  watch,  and  then  waited.  It 
wa,i  necessary  that  the  cabin  should  first  be  closed,  so 
that  those  within,  if  alarmed  by  tlie  outcry  of  their 
friends,  should  not  be  able  to  help  them. 

All  went  on  well.  Jericho  readied  the  cabin,  and 
then  swiftly,  and  with  as  little  noise  as  possible,  shut 
the  door  and  fastened  it.  Upon  this,  Zac  and  Terry 
each  seized  one  of  the  slumbering  Acadians,  and  be- 
fore they  were  fairly  awake  they  were  disarmed. 

Zac  and  Terry  bc^th  scorned  to  bind  them,  partly 
out  of  kindly  feeling  towards  them,  partly  because 
they  themselves  had  not  been  bound,  and  partly  out 
of  the  pride  of  their  manhood.  The  Acadians  at  first 
stood  stu])efied,  and  then,  recognizing  the  whole  truth, 
they  slunk  forward,  and  stood  dejectedly  in  the  bows, 
where  they  awaited  Avith  fear  the  further  action  of 
their  late  prisoners. 

Both  Terry  and  Zac  made  friendly  signs  to  them, 
pressing  their  hands  on  their  hearts,  smiling,  nodding, 


i; 


yl    TALE   OF  ACAD/A. 


137 


and 

shut 

'crry 

be- 

artly 

;ause 

out 

first 

ruth, 

OWS) 

n  of 

hem, 
ling, 


and  so  forth ;  wliilo  Terry  even  went  so  far  as  to 
whistle  one  of  tlieir  favorite  niehxhes.  Hut  tlie  Aca- 
dians  were  not  to  l)e  reassure(h  They  Itoked  upon 
themselves  as  lost  men,  and  evidently  regarded  "^''erry 
as  a  traitor  of  the  deepest  dye. 

They  now  waited  till  tlic  others  in  the  cahin  sliould 
make  some  sign.  Jericho  had  armed  himself  with  an 
axe,  with  wliich  he  stood  ready  to  act  in  case  of  a 
fight.  It  Avas  evident  that  tlie  Acadians  in  the  cahin 
had  heard  nothing  whatever,  and  not  one  of  them 
awaked  before  the  usual  time.  Then,  of  course,  the 
painful  discovery  was  made  by  them.  At  first,  loud 
cries  and  threats  were  made ;  but  these  were  stilled 
by  Zac,  who  in  a  vc  3  of  thunder  awed  them  into 
silence. 

"  You  are  prisoners  !  "   said   he.      "  Give  up  your 


arms. 


» 


The  one  who  understood  a  little  English  was  nble 
to  comprehend  this.  The  command  was  followed  by 
an  excited  debate  among  the  four,  which  was  at  last 
ended  by  a  second  mandate  from  Zac,  accompanied  by 
a  threat  to  fire  upon  them.  At  this  a  hurried  answer 
was  given :  — 

"  We  render.  We  render.  Fire  not." 
A  small  skylight  was  then  opened,  and  all  the 
arms  and  equipments  of  the  pris(,)ners  were  passed 
up.  These  were  appropriated  by  Zac.  The  door  of 
the  cabin  was  then  unfastened  and  opened,  and  tlio 
prisoners  called  upon  to  come  forth,  'i'hey  came 
looking  fearful  and  dejected,  as  though  apprehending 
the  worst.  Zac,  Terry,  and  Jericho,  each  with  his 
musket,  stood  at  the  stern,  and  as  they  came  out  they 
motioned  to  them  to  go  to  the  bows.     The  Acadiana 


I; 


r: 


l!i 


y  ■■  i 


is 


138 


77//:'  L/LV  AND   THE  CROSS, 


()])cyc(l  in  silence,  and  soon  joined  their  two  compan- 
ions. 

Some  time  was  now  occupied  by  Zuc  in  talking 
over  witli  'Perry  the  ])est  course  to  be  pursued.  They 
at  length  decided  to  allow  the  Acadians  to  remain 
unbound  by  day,  and  to  shut  them  down  at  night,  or 
while  sailing.  As  long  as  tliese  men  were  unarmed 
and  themselves  armed,  .iiey  had  not  the  sbglitest  fear 
ol"  any  trouble  arising.  For  the  Acadians,  tliougli 
stout,  muscular  iVdlows,  were  all  so  good-natured  and 
phlegmatic  in  their  faces  that  no  danger  of  anything 
so  desperate  as  an  attack  on  their  part  was  to  be  an- 
ticipated. It  was  decided,  liowever,  while  tliey  were 
on  deck,  to  keep  them  confined  to  the  forward  part  of 
the  schooner. 

Tliis  Zac  succeeded  in  making  known  to  them. 

^^  We  won't  do  you  no  harm,"  said  he.  '^  We  won't 
tic  you  or  bind  }'ou.  At  night  you  must  go  below  to 
sleep.  If  any  of  you  make  an  attack,  we  won't  show 
you  any  mercy.     So  you'd  best  keep  quiet." 

The  chief  Acadian  understood  tliis  as  well  by  the 
signs  with  which   it   was    acr  .iiied   as   from    tlie 

words,  and  he  e>cplained  it  followers.     lie  then 

informed  Zac  that  they  i  be  quiet ;  whereupon 

Tei'ry  went  forward  and  sliook  hands  with  each  and 
all  of  tliem.  '-  Commy  2^ortij-voo?  Bon  jure,  moo- 
soo,^^  said  he ;  to  wliicli  the  Acadians,  liowever,  made 
no  response.  11iey  did  indeed  allow  him  to  sliake 
tlieir  hands ;  but  tliey  would  not  say  anytliing,  and 
evidently  regarded  him  as  a  perjured  villain,  and 
traitor  to  their  cause. 

^'Biler!"  roared  Zac.  "  Whar  are  you,  you  young 
cuss  cf  .'ii'e?" 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


139 


tllG 

tho 
then 
ipon 

and 
moo- 
iiadc 
luiko 

and 


1 


aiic 


)ung 


Upon  tin's  tho  yonnp^  cuss  of  life  slowly  emerged 
from  the  forecastle,  holding  a  cold  potato  in  his  hand. 
Tho  scene  on  deck  made  no  impression  on  him,  but  ho 
walked  aft  witli  his  oyes  fixed  on  Zac. 

"  Stand  there  !  "  commanded  Zac  ;  and  Biler  stood. 

"  Feller  seamen  and  comrades  at  arms,"  said  Za(;, 
stretching  out  liis  arm  in  the  oratorical  fasiiion  wliieh 
lie  had  seen  used  at  town  meetings  "  to  lium."  ''  This 
is  a  gellorious  day  for  his  great  and  gracious  maj"(Mty 
King  George,  wiu)se  loyal  suhjects  we  air,  as  we  have 
proved  by  this  reseoo  of  his  ship  from  the  hands  of 
the  l^hilistines.  It  air  all  very  well  for  the  king  to 
send  out  his  red-coats ;  l)ut  I  tell  you  what  it  is,  I  ain't 
seen  a  red-coat  that  lives  that's  e(pial  to  the  natyvo 
pro-vincial.  Who  aii'  the  ones  that  doos  the  best 
fightin'  out  liere  ?  The  pro-vincials  !  Who  air  the 
men  that's  druv  the  wild  and  bkxjdthusty  Tnjin  back 
to  his  natyve  woods?  The  pro-vincial!  And  who  air 
the  men  that's  goin'  to  settle  tho  business  of  Moosoo, 
an'  make  America  too  liot  to  hold  liim  an'  his'n?  The 
red-coats?  Nay;  l)ut  ra^'ther  the  pro-vincials,  tlio 
men  that's  fit  the  catamounts,  an'  bars,  an'  Injhis,  an' 
turned  the  waste  an'  ])owlin'  wilderness  into  a  gardin', 
an'  made  the  desert  bk)ssom  like  a  rose.  So,  1  say, 
Hooray  for  the  pro-vincials  !  " 

At  this  Zac  removed  his  liat.  Terry  did  the  same; 
so  did  Jericlio.  Biler  had  none  to  remove,  but  he 
raised  his  potato  in  the  air.  Zac  led  olf — "  Hij),  hip, 
hip,  li-o-o-o-r-a-a-a-y  ! " 

"  Arrali,  captain,  darlint,  an'  while  ye's  about  it, 
sure  ye  won't  be  forgettin'  ould  Ireland,''  cried  Terry, 
as  the  ringing  cheers  died  away  over  the  waters. 

"  Certingly,"  said  Zac.     "  Course.     Here  goes  I " 


140 


THE  LII.V  AM>    THE  CROSS. 


I 


And  three  cliocrs  in  tlio  same  fashion  followed  for 
Terry's  native  land. 

" 'J'are  an'  ages!"  cried  Terry;  ''an'  wliile  we're 
abont  it,  sni'e  an'  we's  ouglit  to  give  three;  chairs  for 
Africa,  in  lionor  of  Jericho."' 

"  Hooray  ! "'  ci'ied  Zac.  ''  ITere  goes  !  "  And  tlireo 
clieers  followed  for  Afi'ica.  Wliethc  Jericlio  knew 
mucli  al)()nt  Africa,  may  be  a  (piestion;  hnt  lie  under- 
stood at  least  that  th's  lionor  was  oifered  to  liimsclf, 
and  accepted  it  accordingly.  It  almijst  overwiielmed 
him.  A  wild  chuckle  of  spasmodic  deliglit  burst  from 
him,  wliich  tlireatened  to  end  in  a  convulsion.  And 
though  he  rallied  from  tliis,  yet  he  was  (piite  demoral- 
ized, and  it  was  a  long  time  l)cibre  he  settled  down 
into  that  sedate  old  darky  wliich  was  his  normal  con- 
dition. 

And  now  Zac  waited.  Finding  himself  in  command 
of  his  own  schooner  again,  he  felt  more  able  to  act  in 
case  of  iiecessity.  lie  was  so  I'ar  out  from  the  shore 
that  he  was  easily  able  to  guard  agjunst  the  unex- 
pected arrival  of  any  boat.  By  day  he  lay  at  anchor; 
but  when  night  came  the  Acadians  were  sent  below, 
the  anchor  was  raised,  and  the  schooner  cruised  about 
the  bay.  The  strong  tides  and  currents  caused  a  little 
trouble,  but  Zac  soon  got  the  run  of  them,  at  least  in  a 
general  way,  and  several  nights  were  thus  passed.  At 
length  he  began  to  grow  impatient,  and  felt  quite  at  a 
loss  what  to  do.  He  Avas  half  inclined  to  send  one  of 
the  Acadians  ashore  with  a  message,  but  as  yet  con- 
cluded to  wait  a  little  longer. 

The  Acadians,  whether  from  fear  or  policy,  did  as 
they  promised,  and  kept  quiet.  They  kept  by  them- 
selves always,  and  refused  to  accept  the  advances  of 


3lior; 

■low, 

lb  out 
ittle 
ill  a 
At 
at  a 

10  of 
cou- 
ld as 
liem- 
5S  of 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


HI 


Terry,  though  tlioy  wore  frequently  made.  They  all 
a))peared  listless  and  dejected,  and  tlie  sniihjs,  tlio 
laughter,  and  the  singing  wliieli  Iiad  i-haracterized 
their  first  days  on  hoard  liad  all  j)assod  away,  and 
given  place  to  low,  niunnured  conversation  or  si- 
lence. 

At  length,  one  evcMiing  at  al>out  six  o'clock,  Zac 
saw  a  solitary  hoat  coming  from  tlie  shore.  It  was  a 
long  way  off  when  lie  first  saw  it,  and  it  seemed  to  l)c 
coining  towards  tlie  schooner.  'J'he  tide  was  nnlavor- 
able,  so  tliat  the  ])rogress  was  rjnite  slow;  hut  its 
course  lay  steadily  towards  him,  and  Zac,  who 
watched  it  intently,  was  turning  over  in  his  mind 
his  best  plan  of  action.  It  did  not  seem  large  enoiigli 
to  contain  any  very  l'ormidal)le  force;  Init  Zac  thought 
best  to  take  every  precaution,  and  so  sent  all  the  Aca- 
dians  below,  while  Terry  and  Jericho  stood  ready  for 
action. 

The  time  passed  away,  and  the  boat  drew  steadily 
nearer.  At  length  it  came  near  enough  for  Zac  to 
see  that  it  was  rowed  by  two  men,  whicli  sight  was 
most  welcome,  since  it  assured  him  tliat  no  danger 
was  to  be  apprehended.  As  he  watched  it,  the  boat 
drew  nearer  and  nearer.  lie  said  nothing,  but  waited 
for  them  to  speak  first  He  could  see  that  both  of  the 
men  were  unarmed. 

At  last  the  boat  touched  the  schooner's  side.  One 
of  the  men  leaped  on  boai'd,  securing  tlie  boat,  and 
the  other  followed  imme(liatelv.  Thev  were  both 
dressed  like  all  the  Acadians,  but  the  second  boat- 
man had  a  slouched  hat,  which  concealed  his  face. 
Zac,  who  carelessly  regarded  him,  noticed  that  ho 
was  a  smooth-faced  boy,  while  the  first  boatman  was 
a  grizzled  old  man. 


i  I 


,i^:U 


-     I 

1 1 1. 


I-  -^t 


i»i' 


142 


THE  LILY  AND  THE  CROSS. 


Both  of  these  looked  fironnd,  aiKl  seemed  surprised. 
At  length  the  boy  {idvauced  towards  Zuc. 

"  Capitaino/'  said  this  boy,  '^  wliat  ees  dees  ?  You 
no  seem  a  preesonaire.  You  haf  a  gun.  Air  you 
free?" 

At  the  sound  of  tliis  voice  Zac  started  back  a  step  or 
two  in  utter  amazement.  Could  it  be  possible  ?  Yet 
that  voice  could  not  belong  to  any  otlier.  It  nuist  be* 
And  even  as  lie  stood  tluis  bewildered,  the  boy  raised 
his  hat  with  a  shy  smile,  witli  wliich  tliere  was  also 
mucli  sadness  mingled,  and  revealed  the  face  of  the 
little  Margot. 

'^  Wal,"  exclaimed  Zac,  ''  this  does  beat  creation ! " 

Zac  then  caught  both  lier  hands,  and  held  them  in 
a  tight  grip,  and  for  a  few  moments  could  not  speak. 

''  I  do  feel  good,  little  one,"  said  lie,  in  a  tremulous 
voice.  "This  here's  Avliat  1  ben  a  waitin'  for  —  to  see 
you  —  an'  you  only  —  though  I  skiirse  dared  to  hope 
it.  At  any  rate,  1  did  hope  and  feel  that  you  wouldn't 
go  oif  without  a  word,  and  no  more  you  heven't ;  an'  I 
feel  so  happy  that  1  could  cry." 

It  was  not  exaggerated.  Honest  Zac  was  unused 
to  such  emotions,  and  hardly  understood  them.  His 
eyes  were  moist  as  he  looked  upon  IMargot,  and  slie 
saw  that  his  simple  confession  was  true.  Her  own 
emotion  was  as  great  as  his.  Tears  started  to  lier 
own  eyes,  and  in  her  sadness  slie  leaned  on  his  arm 
and  wept.  Whereupon  Zac's  tears  fell  in  spite  of 
him,  and  he  began  to  call  himself  a  darned  fool,  and 
her  a  dear  little  pet ;  till  the  scolding  of  himself  and 
the  soothing  of  iMargot  became  so  hopelessly  inter- 
mingled that  he  called  lier  a  darned  old  pet,  and  him- 
self a  dear  little  fool.     Whereupon  Margot  burst  into 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


143 


ised 
lllis 

islie 
)wn 
llicr 
lu'iii 

of 

imd 

liiid 

ler- 

im- 

ito 


a  laiigb,  dashed  her  tears  away,  and  started  off  from 
Zac's  grasp. 

And  now  Margot  proceeded  to  tell  Zac  the  reason 
of  her  journey.  From  her  he  learned  for  the  first 
time  tlie  events  that  liad  taken  i)lace  on  shore.  First, 
she  informed  liim  tliat  Claude  was  in  confinement,  and 
that  Cazeneau  intended  to  take  him  or  send  him  to 
Louisbourg ;  that  Cazeneau  himst'lf  was  bitterly  hos- 
tile to  him.  Slie  informed  him  that  Laborde  was 
dead;  that  Mimi  was  in  terril)le  distress,  and  in 
mortal  terror  of  Cazeneau ;  and  linally,  that  she  was 
to  be  taken  to  Louisbourg.  All  this  filled  Zac  with 
concern  and  apprehension.  She  informed  Zac  that 
she  and  her  mistress  were  to  be  taken  away  eai'ly  on 
the  following  morning,  and  that  she  had  slipped  off 
thus  in  disguise,  witli  tlie  consent  of  her  mistress,  to 
let  him  know  the  danger  of  his  friend  ;  for  Claude  was 
to  remain  in  Grand  Pr.'  for  some  time  longer,  and  her 
mistress  thought  that  after  Cazeneau  had  departed,  it 
might  be  possible  to  do  something  to  save  him. 

This  occupied  some  time,  and  Zac  interrupted  her 
with  many  questions.  At  length,  having  told  her 
story,  ^largot  turned  aAvay.     This  startled  Zac. 

"What!"  said  he;  '^  you're  not  a  goin'  to  leave 
me  ! "  and  poor  Zac's  voice  was  like  a  wail  of  de- 
spair. 

"  Why,  wdiat  ees  eet  posseeble  to  do  ?  I  moos  go 
to  ma  maitresse.'' 

'^  But  —  but  what'U  become  of  me?"  mourned  Zac. 
"  I  may  never  see  you  again." 

Margot  sighed.  "  I  moos  go  to  ma  maitresse,"  she 
murmured. 

"  0,  don't !  don't  now  !  "  cried  Zac.    "  She  ain't  half 


144 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


:h 


I   I 


i: 

f 

^"•i  ^ 

f' 

'V    ' 

ii 

as  fond  of  you  as  me.  Slio  can  tiikc  care  of  herself. 
Tlie  priest'll  watch  over  licr.  O,  don't  go,  don't !  I 
declar  I  feel  like  dnjundin'  niyseli  at  the  bare  idee." 

Zac,  npon  tliis,  seized  lier  liand,  and  begged,  and 
coaxed,  and  prayed  lier  to  stay;  till  jx^or  little  Mai"got 
began  to  cry  bitterly,  and  conld  only  })lead  in  broken 
tones  her  love  for  her  dear  mistress,  who  was  in  siu-li 
danger,  and  how  base  it  would  be  to  desert  her  at 
such  a  time. 

'^  Wal,  wal  —  would  you  —  would  you  come  with  me 
if — if  it  warn't  for  her?"  mourned  Zac. 

Margot  looked  up  at  his  face  Avith  a  slight  smile 
shining  through  her  tears,  which  seemed  to  reassure 
poor  Zac. 

"  We  sail  meet  again,"  said  ]\largot,  in  a  more  cheer- 
ful voice. 

Zac  shook  his  head  disconsolately. 

'^  And  so,  adieu,"  said  ^hirgot,  in  a  low  voice. 

Zac  said  nothing,  l)ut  with  an  ex])ression  of  despair 
lie  took  her  in  his  arms,  kissed  her,  and  then  turned 
aAvay  and  wept. 

Margot  cried  l)itterly,  and  got  into  the  boat.  The 
old  Acadian  followe(L     The  boat  rowed  away. 

^^  Adieu,  et  mt  rcmlr,  cher  Zac/-  said  Margot,  calling 
back  and  waving  lier  hat. 

"  Goo-oo-d  by-ye,"  said  Zac,  in  a,  wail  of  despair. 

For  hours  Zac  stood  looking  after  the  boat  in  per- 
fect silence.  At  last  he  turned  away,  gulping  down  a 
sigh. 

''  Darned  ef  1  know  what  on  airth's  tlie  matter  with 
me,"  he  murmured. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


145 


CHAPTER  XIY. 


MAXCEUVRES    OF   ZAC. 


Ivith 


ZAC  slept  but  little  that  night.  T^.  re  were  two 
causes  for  Avakel'uliiess.  The  first  was  Margot, 
who  had  wrought  such  mischiei  witli  his  thoughts  and 
feelings  that  he  did  not  know  what  was  the  matter 
with  him.  The  second  cause  was  the  condition  of 
Claude. 

Gradually  Margot's  image  faded  away,  and  he  l)egan 
to  turn  his  tlioughts  towards  tlio  })r()l)lem  of  deliver- 
ing Claude.     IIow  was  tliat  to  be  done  ? 

Over  this  he  thought  for  the  greater  part  of  that 
night.  Towards  morning  lie  called  Terry,  who  was 
to  watcli  for  tlie  remainder  of  the  niglit,  and  pro- 
ceeded to  hold  a  coiuicil  of  war. 

First  of  all  he  acquainted  Terry  witli  the  general 
state  of  affairs.  Part  of  Margot's  information  had 
been  overheard  by  him  ;  but  Terry,  seeing  how  things 
were,  had  discreetly  withdrawn  aft,  and  kept  up  a 
loud  whistle,  so  as  to  prevent  himself  from  overliear- 
ing  their  words  ;  so  that  now  tlie  greater  part  of  this 
information  was  news  to  the  Irish  Ijoy. 

"  And  have  ye  tliought  of  anythin'  at  all,  at  all?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Wal,  Pve  tliouglit  over  most  everything  said 
Zac.  ''  You  see,  the  state  of  the  case  is  this  :  they've 
10 


14G 


THE  LILY  AND    TLIE   CROSS. 


f 


I) 


^1! 


■'I 


i 

i 

\\ 

'/Ml  ; 

'■ 

ifIS 

-il  .  ' 

w 

t 

F  i 

u 

1 
1 

f: 

..'!>-    ■ 

i 

1,-  ■ 

lis 

■ 

1. 

*^ 

got  one  of  us  a  prisoner  .'islioro  over  there,  but  we've 
got  six  of  them  a  prisoner  out  here." 

"  Tlirue  for  you/'  said  Terry. 

"  Wal,  now,  you  see,  if  tliis  Cazeneau  was  here,  he 
hates  Motier  so  like  pison  tliat  he'd  sacrifice  a  hun- 
dred Frenclnnen  rayther'n  lot  him  go  —  an'  in  my 
'pinion  he's  worth  a  hundred  Frenchmen,  an'  more. 
But  now,  bein'  as  Cazcneau's  goin'  away  to-morrer, 
we'll  be  in  a  position  to  deal  with  the  people  here 
that's  a  keepin'  Motier;  an'  when  it  comes  to  them 
—  why,  they  won't  feel  like  losin'  six  of  their  men 
for  the  sake  of  one  stranger." 

"  I  wonder,"  said  Terry,  "  whether  the  owld  boy 
that  came  out  in  the  boat  found  out  anythin'.  'Deed, 
if  he'd  had  his  wits  about  him,  an'  eyes  in  his  head, 
he'd  have  seen  it  all,  —  so  he  would." 

"  Wal,  we'll  hev  to  let  'em  know,  right  straight  off." 

"  To-morra'd  be  best." 

"  Yes ;  an'  then  Cazeneau'U  be  off.  I'd  rayther 
wait  till  then ;  it'll  be  better  for  us  to  have  him  out 
of  the  way." 

"What'Uye  do?" 

"  Wal,  I'll  sail  up,  and  send  w^ord  ashore." 

"  How'U  you  sind  word  ?  We  can't  spake  a  word 
of  the  lingo." 

"•  Wal,  I  ben  a  thinkin'  it  over,  an'  I've  about  come 
to  the  conclusion  that  the  old  Frenchman  down  thar 
in  the  cabin'U  be  the  best  one  to  send." 

"  Sure,  an'  ye  won't  sind  the  Frenchman  ashore  in 
yer  own  boat !  " 

"  Why  not  ?  " 

''  He'll  niver  bring  it  back ;  so  he  won't." 

"  Then  we'll  keep  the  other  five  Frenchmen." 


)rd 

le 
lar 

in 


I 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


U7 


''Sure,  an'  it's  a  hard  tiling  altogetlier,  so  it  is,  to 
hev  to  tlirust  him.  He"!!  W)  after  rousiii'  the  country, 
an'  they'll  power  down  upon  us  in  five  hundred  fishin' 
boats;  so  they  will." 

'' Wal,  if  I  staid  lierc  to  anchor,  that  might  be  dan- 
gerous," said  Zac  ;  ''  but  I  ain't  got  no  idee  of  standin' 
still  in  one  place  for  them  to  attack  me." 

"  Sure,  an'  it'll  be  best  to  let  him  see  tliat  if  he  don't 
come  back  wid  Misther  Metier,  the  whole  five'll  hev 
their  brains  blown  out." 

"  Sartin.  He'll  have  to  go  witli  that  in  his  mind ; 
an'  what's  more,  I'll  make  him  swear  an  oath  to  come 
back." 

"  Sure,  an' it'll  be  the  hard  thing  to  do  when  neither 
ofyez  ondherstan'  enougli  of  one  another's  lingo  to  ax 
the  time  af  day." 

"  Wal,  then  I'll  have  to  be  satisfie<l  with  the  other 
five  Moosoos.  If  the  first  Moosoo  runs  for  it,  he'll 
leave  the  other  five,  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  b'lieve  that 
the  farmers  here  air  goin'  to  let  five  of  their  own  rela- 
tives and  connections  perish,  rayther'n  give  up  one 
stranger." 

A  few  more  words  followed,  and  then  Zac  retired 
below,  leaving  Terry  on  deck. 

A  few  hours'  sleep  sufticed  for  Zac,  and  not  long 
after  sunrise  he  was  all  ready  for  action.  But  tlie 
tide  was  not  quite  high  enougli  for  his  purposes.  The 
long-extended  mud  flats  lay  bare  in  tlie  distance  for 
miles,  and  Zac  had  to  wait  until  a  portion,  at  least,  of 
this  space  should  be  covered.  At  length  the  water 
had  spread  over  as  nuich  of  the  red  mud  as  seemed 
desirable,  while  eveiy  hour  the  schooner  would  have 
a   greater  depth  beneath  her  ;  so  Zac  concluded  to 


148 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


A\ 


■1:1    il 


III 


start.     Up  tlien  went  tlio  {inclior,  the   sails  were  set, 

and  yielding  to  the  impulse  of  a  favorable  breeze,  the 

Parson  turned  her  head  towards  the  landing-place  at 

Grand  Pr(3. 

Various  preparations  had   to   l^e  made,  and  these 

now  engaged  tlie  attention  of  Zac,  who  committed  the 

care  of  the  helm  to  Terry.     Tlie  first  was  the  compo- 
sition of  a  letter.     It  was  to  be  sliort  and  to  the  point. 

Zac  had  already  settled  in  liis  own  mind  about  the 

wording  of  this,  so  that  the  writing  of  it  now  occupied 

but  a  little  time.     It  was  as  follows  :  — 

"  To  any  Magistrate  at  Grand  Pre :  — 

"  Know  all  men  by  this,  that  the  six  Acadians  sent 
to  take  charge  of  the  schooner  '  Rev.  Amos  Adams,' 
are  now  held  by  me  as  my  prisoners  until  such  time 
as  Mr.  Claude  Motier  shall  bo  delivered  free  from 
prison.  And  if  Mr.  Claude  Motier  sliall  not  be  set 
free,  these  six  shall  be  carried  to  prison  to  Boston. 
And  if  Mr.  Clavide  Motier  be  put  to  death,  these  six 
shall  one  and  all  be  put  to  death  likewise. 

"  An  answer  is  required  witliin  three  hours. 

"  ZiON  Awake  Cox, 
"  Master  of  the  schooner  '  Rev.  Amos  Adams.' 

"MiNAS  Basin,  May  28,  1743." 

This  Zac  folded  and  addressed,  thinking  that  if  no 
one  in  Grand  Pre  could  read  English,  it  would  be 
taken  to  Claude  himself  for  translation. 

He  next  prepared  to  hoist  a  large  British  ensign. 
T+,  was  not  often  that  the  Parson  showed  her  colors, 
but  on  this  occasion  it  was  necessary,  and  Zac  saw 
that  this  display  of  English   colors  would  be   an  act 


A    TALI':   OF  ACADIA. 


149 


no 

be 


wliicli  would  tell  its  owji  story,  and  show  Mc^osoo  tliat 
the  schooner  had  once  more  changiMl  masters.  The 
colors  lay  on  dock,  ready  to  be  hoisted  at  the  proper 
moment.  What  that  moment  was  to  be  he  had  already 
decided.  Zac,  in  his  pre])arations  on  this  occasion, 
showed  that  he  possessed  a  line  eye  lor  di-amati(3 
effect,  and  knew  how  to  create  a  sensation.  There 
was  a  small  howitzer  amidsnips,  —  Zac's  joy  and  [)ride, 
—  which,  like  the  ensign,  was  made  use  of  only  on 
great  and  rare  occasions,  such  as  the  king's  bii'thday, 
or  other  seasons  of  general  rejoicing.  This  he  deter- 
mined to  make  use  of  at  the  present  crisis,  thinking 
that  it  W(juld  speak  in  tones  that  would  strike  terror 
to  the  heart  of  Moosoo,  both  on  l)oard  and  ashore. 

Last  of  all,  it  remained  to  ex])lain  to  the  Acadians 
on  board  the  purposes  U[)on  which  he  was  bent.  They 
were  still  below.  Jericho  had  supplied  them  with 
their  breakfast  there,  but  Zac  had  not  allowed  them 
on  deck.  Now,  however,  he  summoned  forth  their 
chief  man,  leaving  the  others  behind,  and  proceeded 
to  endeavor,  as  far  as  possible,  to  explain  to  this  man 
wdiat  he  wished. 

The  Acadian's  stock  of  English  words  was  but 
small,  yet  Zac  ^vas  able,  after  all,  by  the  help  of  signs, 
to  give  him  some  idea  of  his  purpose.  The  letter  also 
was  slioAvn  him,  and  he  seemed  able  to  gather  from  it 
a  general  idea  of  its  meaning.  ITis  words  to  Zac  indi- 
cated a  very  lively  idea  of  the  danger  which  was  im- 
pending over  the  prisoners. 

"  Me  go,"  he  said.  '^  Put  me  'shore.  Me  go  tout 
de  suite;  me  deliver  M.  Metier;  make  come  here  tout 
de  suite  —  hon!" 

'^  All  right,"  said  Zac ;  "  but  mind  you,  he  must  be 


i^^r^^^rnm^tf^irr  t"^^  p  ^  >■ 


150 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


ii' 


» ) 


l(l> 


hero  in  three  hours  —  three,"  lie  repeated,  holding 
lip  three  fingers  ;  '^  three  hours." 

"  0,  oui  — yes  — ccrtaiiieniad  —  tree  liour." 

''  These  others  will  be  all  prisoners  if  he  don't 
come." 

^^  0,  oui — yo^  ;  ftll  personaire  ;  mals  ho  vill  come, 
tout  certalnemodJ^ 

"  You  und'stand  now,  Moosoo,  sure?" 

"  0,  Old ;  me  coniprotds  —  ond'stand  —  certaine- 
merit.^^ 

'^  Well,  then,  you  wait  up  here  till  wo  get  nearer, 
and  then  you  cTin  go  asliore  in  the  Ijoat." 

But  Zac's  preparations  were  destined  to  undergo 
some  delay,  for  the  wind  died  out,  and  the  schooner 
lay  idle  upon  the  surface  of  the  water.  For  several 
hours  Zac  waited  patiently,  hoping  for  a  change  ;  but 
no  cliango  came.  At  length  tlie  tide  turned,  and  after 
a  time  the  scliooner,  which  had  already  been  drifting 
helplessly,  now  began  to  be  carried  back  towards  the 
place  from  Avliich  she  had  started. 

Zac  was  now  left  to  his  own  invention,  and  could 
only  decide  that  on  the  following  day,  if  the  wind 
should  fail  him,  he  would  send  tlie  boat  ashore  from 
his  present  anchorage,  and  wait  the  result.  For 
various  reasons,  however,  lie  preferred  going  nearer ; 
and  therefore  he  had  refrained  from  sending  the  boat 
ashore  that  day. 

The  next  day  came.  There  was  a  fresh  breeze  and 
a  favorable  one.  The  waters  began  to  rise.  Zac  was 
all  ready.  Up  went  the  anchor,  the  sails  were  set, 
and  once  more  the  Parson  was  turned  towards  the 
landing.  The  breeze  now  blew  steadily,  and  in  course 
of  time  Zac  found  himself  sufficiently  near  for  his  pur- 
poses, and  he  began  to  act. 


I!:    liil 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


151 


First  of  all,  np  went  tlio  Britisli  onsip;n.  Then,  tlio 
howitzer  wan  fired.  The  noise  of  the  report  did  not 
fail  of  the  effect  wliicli  Zac  liad  anticipated.  He  saw 
tlic  people  tnrning*  out  from  their  houses,  some  stand- 
ing still  and  loolcinij:,  otliei's  running  towards  the  lan<l- 
ing.  Again  and  again  the  gun  was  fired,  eaeli  report 
serving  to  increase  the  excitement  among  the  p^eople 
asliore.  The  Bi-itisli  ensign  was  fully  visihle,  and 
showed  them  wliat  had  taken  j)lace. 

After  tliis  Zac  sent  Jerielio  asliore  in  tlie  boat,  along 
with  the  chief  Acadian.  The  others  were  conlined 
below.  Zac  saw  the  Acadian  land,  and  Jericho  re- 
turn.    Tlien  he  waited. 

But  it  was  not  possible  for  him  to  wait  here,  nor 
was  it  safe.  The  tide  would  soon  fall,  leaving,  as  it 
retreated,  a  vast  expanse  of  bare  mud  Hats,  lie  did 
not  wish  to  run  any  risk  of  the  scliooner  grounding  in 
a  place  like  this,  and  therefore  allowed  her  to  fall 
witli  the  tide,  and  gradually  move  back  to  \\\(i  l)ay 
without.  All  the  time,  however,  lie  kept  one  eye  on 
the  shore.  The  three  hours  passed,  lie  had  drifted 
down  again  for  several  miles,  and  it  was  no  longer 
e.asy  to  discern  objects.  But  at  lengtli  lie  saw  a  boat 
sailing  from  the  shore  to  tlie  schooner. 

As  the  boat  came  nearer,  he  saw  that  Claude  was 
not  on  board.  Two  men  were  in  her,  one  of  wliom 
was  the  man  whom  he  had  sent  awa}',  and  the  other 
Avas  a  stranger.  This  stranger  was  an  elderly  man,  of 
venerable  appearance.  They  came  up,  and  both  went 
on  board. 

The  elderly  man  was  one  of  the  chief  men  of  the 
settlement,  and  spoke  English  sufficiently  well  to 
carry  on  a  conversation.     The  information  which  he 


152 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


% 


it 


I 


11 
iii 


1   ■! 


1  ' 

1   ! 

t| . 

t  ; 

.  1 

m 


gave  Zac  Wiis  not  at  nil  to  the  satisfactiuii  ol'  iliu  latter. 
It  was  to  tlio  iollowiug  ei'lbc't:  — 

That  ^r.  Moticr  Jiad  Ix'cii  kopt  in  confinemont  at 
tlio  liouso  of  Coiiioau ;  that  early  on  tii(3  ])rcviuus  day 
j\I.  (\izcncau  had  dL'[)art(jd  i'oi'  Louishuui'g,  with  the 
Al)l)d  Michel,  and  the  Countess  de  Lahorde  and  her 
maid;  that  M.  j\h)tier,  however,  on  the  previous  night, 
had  sonieliow  ellected  I  lis  eseape. 

Then  the  old  man  tried  to  induce  Zae  to  set  the 
Acadians  free,  except  one,  arguing  that  one  lil'e  was 
enough  to  hold  against  that  ol'  Motiei'.  J>ut  to  this 
Zac  sternly  respon<led  that  one  hundred  Acadians 
w^ould  not  be  of  sullicient  value  to  countei'halance  the 
sacred  life  of  his  friend.  The  only  thing  that  Zac 
conceded  was  the  libertv  of  the  Acadian  whom  he  had 
sent  a^;hore  ;  for  he  felt  touched  by  the  plucky  con- 
duct of  this  man  in  returning  to  tlie  schooner.  To 
his  amazement,  however,  this  man  refused  to  go,  de- 
claring that  he  had  come  back  to  stand  by  his  J'riends, 
.and  one  of  the  others  might  l)e  freed  instead.  On  re- 
ferring the  matter  to  them,  one  was  found  who  was 
weak  enough  to  take  advantage  of  this  oiler,  and  he 
it  was  who  rowed  the  old  man  ashore. 

Towards  evening  a  canoe  came  gliding  over  the 
water,  containing  a  single  Indian.  This  Indian  held 
aloof  at  a  certain  distance,  scanning  the  schooner 
curiously.  Zac,  seeing  this,  sprang  upon  the  taffrail, 
and  called  and  beckoned  to  him  ;  for  a  sudden  thought 
came  to  him  that  the  Indian  might  have  been  de- 
spatched by  Claude  to  tell  him  something,  and  not 
knowing  that  he  w^as  no  longer  a  prisoner,  might  be 
hesitating  as  to  the  best  way  of  approaching.  His 
conjecture  seemed  to  be  right,  for  this  Indian,  on  see- 
ing him,  at  once  drew  near,  and  came  on  board. 


A    TArjC   OF  ACADIA. 


l.W 


Tlie  Indian  sai.l  n.,t  a  w,„-.l,  luit  Imn.lcl  Zac  a  letter 
^ac  opened  it,  and  read  tlie  lollnwing:  — 

"  Claude  Motier  is  free.*   Indians  l,ale  saf..,!   him 

and  gnule  l.ini  to  l.,uisl, „„  tl,e  trail  „r  CW 

neau.     He  wishes  that  y.,n   go  I,.   Canso,  where   you 
Wi  i  l,e  nselMl.     lie  hope  to  safe  Con.tesse  de  Lal.ordc 
and  want  you  to  l,elp  to  safe  she.    Go,  then,  to  Canso  :' 
and  ,1  you  arrive  innuediately,  you  sail  see   Indians, 
and  must  tell.     They  sail  l.ing  the  intelligence  to  us. 

"  ThK   rKIlK   AIlCHEL." 

On  reading  tin's,  Zac  understood  all.  IIo  saw  that 
lerc  Micliel  i,a,l  been  a  lrien,l,  and  had  engaged  the 
Indians^  to  help  Chunle.  He  at  once  dctennine,!  to 
go  to  Canso.  That  very  night  he  sent  the  Acadians 
ashore,  and  set  sail. 


*    I 


r 


154 


THE  LILY  AND  THE  CKOSS, 


''\ 


'1 


CHAPTER  XV. 

FLIGHT. 

01^  leaving  tlio  Iioung,  tlio  Tiidlan  led  the  way  in 
silence  for  some  distunce.  In  tlie  immediate 
neigld)()rliood  of  tlie  liouse  were  open  fields,  while  in 
front  of  it  Avas  tlie  road  wliieli  ran  do\Mi  to  tlie  river. 
The  honse  was  on  the  declivity  of  a  hill,  at  the  foot  of 
which  were  broad  dike-lands,  which  ran  far  out  till 
they  terminated  at  the  island  already  mentioned.  Be- 
yond this  lay  the  Basin  of  ^linas,  and  in  the  distance 
the  shadowy  outline  of  the  surrounding*  shores. 

The  Indian  led  the  way  for  some  distance  across 
the  fields,  and  then  turned  into  the  road.  Along  this 
ho  passed  till  he  reached  the  i-i\'er.  It  was  the  Gas- 
pcreaux,  at  the  mouth  of  which  was  the  j)lace  where 
Claude  had  landed.  Here  the  lii<lian  crossed,  and 
Claude  followed,  the  water  not  being  much  above  their 
knees.  On  reaching  the  other  side,  the  Indian  walked 
down  the  stream,  keeping  in  the  open  a«  much  as  i)os- 
sibl 


e. 


At  lenii'th  thev  left  tlie  rivoi*,  and  went   on  whei' 


'i-i 


e 


the   irround  rose  Li'raduallv.     Here  thev  soon  entered 


}-i 


10 


the  woods.  It  was  a  broad  trail,  and  though  in  tl 
shadow  of  the  trees  it  Avas  rather  dark,  yet  the  trail 
was  Avide  enough  to  alloAV  of  Claude  following  Ids  guide 
Avithout  any  dilHculty  Avhatever.     For  about  an  hour 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


155 


ross 

this 

G; 


iS- 


'hero 
,  and 

alke<l 


DO? 


ivliero 
tercd 


111 


tho 
trail 


iLruH 


hour 


they  walked  on  in  this  way,  ascending  steadily  most 
of  the  time,  until  at  length  Claude  found  himself  upon 
an  open  space  overgrown  witli  slii'uhbery,  and  alto- 
gether bare  of  trees.  Here  several  dusky  figure^,  a[)- 
peared,  and  the  guide  conversed  with  them  for  some 
time. 

Claude  now  seated  liimself  on  tlie  ground.  IJe  felt 
so  fatigued  already  from  tliis  iirst  tramp,  tliat  he  l)egan 
to  experience  a  sense  of  discouragement,  and  to  think 
tliat  his  confinement  liad  affected  his  strength.  He 
gazed  wearily  and  dreann'ly  upon  tlie  scene  before  him. 
There,  spread  out  at  Iiis  {^.i^ii^  was  a  magnificent  pros- 
pect. The  land  went  sloping  down  to  tlie  water.  To- 
wards tho  left  were  the  low  dike-lands  runniiig  out 
to  the  island  ;  beyond  this  the  waters  of  Minas  Basin 
lay  spread  out  before  him.  Tims  far  there  had  been 
no  moonlight ;  but  now,  as  he  looked  towards  the  east, 
he  noticed  that  the  sky  was  already  flushing  with  the 
tints  of  dawn.  But  even  this  failed  to  rouse  him.  A 
profound  weariness  and  inertness  settled  slowly  over 
every  sense  and  limb,  and  falling  back,  he  fell  into  a 
deep  sleep. 

AYlien  he  awaked,  he  saw  that  it  was  l)road  day,  and 
that  the  sun  was  already  high  up  in  the  sky.  lie 
started  to  his  feet,  and  his  first  thought  was  one  <-  f  joy 
at  finding  that  his  strength  liad  all  returned. 

At  his  question,  the  Indian  who  was  the  spokesman 
told  him  that  Louisbourg  Avas  more  than  twelve  days' 
journey  away,  and  that  the  path  Lc,  through  the  wc^ods 
for  the  whole  distance. 

Before  setting  forth,  the  Indian  gave  him  a  rifle  and 
a  sword,  which  he  said  PC' re  i\Iichel  had  requested 
him  to  give  him.     There  was  also  a  sufficient  supply 


I? 


¥  • 


U  ■  s 


:m 


i 


,.{ 


m 


M' 


•■^  •  mfttr-j^.'^m  1  111"  ^iii  fiiwivqqviffwii^i  jB|i|K>^(«^«i<v^pi^!>q«rfwm4*<<«Bfi«^ 


)♦  I 


156 


yy/^-  z/zj'  ^^/.w;  7//E  aaoss. 


of  powder  and  l)all.  Taking  tlicse,  Cbmdo  then  set 
out  on  his  long  tramp.  Tlicro  were  six  Indians.  Of 
these,  three  went  in  front,  and  three  in  the  rear,  the 
wliole  party  going  in  single  file.  Tlie  trail  was  a  wide 
one,  and  eoniparatively  sniootli.  '^Fhe  guide  drew 
Claude's  attention  to  tracks  on  the  ground,  wliieh  eould 
easily  be  recognized  as  the  prints  of  horse  hoofs.  To 
Claude's  iiupiiry  liow  many  there  were,  the  Indian 
informed  him  that  tliere  were  four.  By  this  it  seemed 
to  Claude  tliat  Mimi  and  her  maid  had  each  one,  while 
tlie  other  two  were  used  by  Cazeneau  and  the  priest. 

After  several  hours  they  at  length  came  to  a  river. 
It  was  like  tlie  Gaspcreaux  in  one  respect,  for  it  was 
turbid,  and  rolled  witli  a  swift  current.  Tlie  banks 
also  were  lined  with  marshes,  and  the  edges  were 
composed  of  soft  mud.  No  way  of  crossing  it  ap- 
peared, and  as  they  approached  it,  the  Indians  turned 
away  to  go  up  the  stream.  The  prospect  of  a  long 
detour  was  very  unpleasant  to  Claude  ;  and  when  at 
length  he  came  to  a  })lace  Avliere  the  tracks  of  the 
horses  went  towards  the  river,  he  asked  why  this  was. 
The  Indians  informed  him  that  the  horses  had  crossed 
here,  but  that  they  would  have  to  go  farther  up.  It 
did  not  turn  out  so  bad  as  Claude  had  feared,  for  after 
about  half  an  hour's  further  walk,  they  stopped  at  the 
bank  of  the  river,  and  Avaited. 

To  Claucje's  question  why  they  waited,  an  extraor- 
dinary answer  was  given.  It  was,  that  they  were 
waiting  till  the  water  ran  out.  This  reminded  him  of 
the  old  cLissic  story  about  the  fool  who  came  to  a  river 
bank  and  waited  for  the  water  to  run  out,  so  that  ho 
might  cross.  Claude  could  not  understand  it ;  but, 
supposing  that  his  guides  knew  Avhat  they  were  about, 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


157 


p. 


traor- 
were 

lim  of 

I  river 
at  he 
but, 

about, 


u 


. 


he  waited  for  tlio  result,  taking  advantage  of  this  rest 
to  fortify  his  inner  man  witli  a  sound  repast.  After 
this  was  over,  ho  rose  to  examine  the  situation  ;  and 
tlie  first  siglit  showed  In'm  an  astonisliing  cliange.  He 
had  lingered  over  liis  repast,  now  eating,  now  smoking, 
for  about  an  liour,  and  in  that  time  tliere  had  been 
wrought  wliat  seemed  to  ln"m  like  a  wonder  of  Nature. 
The  water  of  the  river  liad  indeed  1)een  running  out, 
as  the  Indian  said;  and  there  before  him  lay  the  chan- 
nel, running  low,  with  its  waters  still  pouring  forward 
at  a  rate  wliich  seemed  to  tlircaten  final  emptiness. 
And  as  he  looked,  the  waters  fell  lower  and  lower, 
until  at  length,  after  he  had  been  tliere  three  hours, 
the  channel  was  almost  emi)ty. 

This  particular  spot  was  not  sonmddy  asotlier  parts 
of  the  river  bed,  and  tlierefore  it  had  been  chosen  as 
the  best  place  for  crossing.  It  was  quite  hard,  except 
in  the  middle,  wliere  tlio  mud  and  water  together  rose 
over  their  knees  ;  and  tlius  this  miglity  flood  was  crossed 
as  though  it  had  been  some  small  brook. 

A  few  hours  more  served  to  bring  tliem  to  the  foot 
of  some  hills  ;  and  here  tlie  party  halted.  Tliey  had 
once  more  picked  up  the  trail,  an<l  Claude  was  en- 
couraged by  the  siglit  of  tlie  luu'se  tracks. 

He  now  unfolded  to  the  Indian  his  design.  To  his 
great  pleasure  lie  found  tliat  PCre  ^lichel  had  already 
anticipated  him,  and  that  the  Indian  understood  very 
well  wliat  was  wanted.  lie  assured  ('laude  tliat  he 
could  easily  communicate  with  tlie  otliers  so  as  not 
to  be  suspected,  and  lead  back  Pere  ^lichel  and  the 
women  to  him.  His  plan  was  to  make  a  detour,  and 
get  ahead  of  them,  ap})roacliing  them  from  that  direc- 
tion, so  as  to    avoid  suspicion,  while   Claude  might 


.  '<■' 


I 

I  1 


n 


1 1 


158 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


remain  witli  the  otlicr  IiuliaTis  in  some  place  Avlierc  they 
could  be  found  apiin.  This  plan  seemed  to  (,'laude  so 
simple  and  so  feasihlc  tliat  he  ij;Te\v  c^xultant  over  the 
])rospcct,  ibrgettiiiLz,'  the  many  difHculties  that  would 
still  be  before  him,  even  it  this  first  enterprise  should 
succeed. 

Their  repast  was  simple  and  easily  procured.  The 
woods  and  waters  furnished  all  that  they  reefuired.  A 
hare  and  some  sni])e  and  plover,  witli  a  few  trout  and 
a  salmon,  were  tlie  result  of  a  short  excursion,  that 
did  not  extend  mucli  fai'therthan  a  stone's  throw  from 
the  encampment. 

The  next  day  they  resinned  tlieir  journey.  It  lay 
over  the  hills,  wliich  were  steep,  tliough  not  very  high.. 
The  trail  now  grew  rougher,  being  covered  with  stones 
in  many  places,  so  as  to  rescml)le  tlie  dry  cliannel  of  a 
jnountain  torrent,  wlille  in  other  places  tlie  roots  of 
trees  wdiicli  ran  across  interfered  with  rapid  progress. 
Tliis  Claude  saw  with  great  satisfaction,  for  he  knew 
that  horses  could  go  but  slowly  over  a  path  like  this; 
and  therefore  every  step  seemed  to  lessen  the  distance 
between  him  and  Mimi.  All  that  day  they  were  trav- 
ersing these  hills. 

Tlio  next  day  their  journey  lay  through  a  gentle, 
undulating  country,  wliere  the  towering  trees  of  tlie 
forest  rose  high  all  around,  Avhile  at  tlieir  feet  were 
mosses,  anJ  wild  grasses,  and  ferns,  and  flowers  of  a 
kind  that  were  utterly  strange  to  Claude.  It  was  the 
month  of  June,  tlie  time  wdien  ill  nature  in  Acadie 
robes  herself  in  her  fairest  charms. 

Thus  day  after  day  passed,  each  day  being  the  coun- 
terpart of  the  otiier  in  its  cloudless  skies,  its  l)reath 
from    the  perfumed  woods,  and  the    song   of  birds. 


I 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


159 


1 10 


iiri; 
iico 
av- 

lo, 
lie 
ere 
f  a 
tlio 
dio 

Lin- 
ith 
Ids. 


On  the  sixth  day  tlie  tracks  of  the  horses  seemed  to 
be  fresher  than  usual ;  and  to  Claude's  question  tlie 
Indian  replied  that  they  must  be  close  by  them.  At 
this  Claude  hurried  on  more  vigorously,  and  kept 
tip  his  march  later  than  usual.  He  was  even  anxious 
to  go  forward  all  niglit;  but  the  Indian  was  miwilling. 
He  wished  to  approach  them  by  day  ratlier  tlian  by 
night,  and  was  afraid  jf  coming  too  suddenly  upon 
them,  and  thus  being  discovered,  if  they  went  on  while 
the  others  miglit  l)e  resting.  Thus  Claude  was  com- 
pelled to  restrain  his  impatient  desires,  and  wait  for  the 
folio  win":  dav. 

When  it  came  tliey  set  forth,  and  kept  up  a  rapid  pace 
for  some  hours.  At  length  they  came  to  an  o[)ening 
in  the  woods  where  the  scene  was  no  longer  shut  in  by 
trees,  but  sliowed  a  wide-extended  prospect.  It  was 
a  valley,  through  Avhicli  ran  a  small  stream,  bordered 
on  each  side  witli  willows.  The  valley  was  green  with 
the  ricliest  vegetation.  Clusters  of  mai)les  appeared 
like  groves,  here  and  there  interspersed  with  beech 
and  towering  oaks,  wliile  at  intervals  appeared  tlie 
magnificent  forms  of  grand  elms  all  covered  with  droop- 
ing foliage,  and  even  the  massive  trunks  green  with 
the  garlands  of  tender  and  gracefully-bending  shoots. 

For  a  moment  Claude  stood  full  of  admiration  at  this 
lovely  scene,  and  then  hurried  on  after  his  guide.  The 
guide  now  appeared  desirous  of  slackening  his  pace,  for 
he  saw  that  if  the  other  party  were  not  fir  away  he 
would  be  more  liable  to  discovery  in  this  open  valley  ; 
but  it  was  not  very  wide.  About  half  a  mile  firther 
on,  the  deep  woods  arose  once  more  ;  and,  as  there 
were  no  signs  of  life  here,  he  yielded  to  Claude's  im- 
patient  entreaty,  and  went  on  at  his  usual  pace. 


\\r- 
1 1 


160 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


\\\ 


^  I 


Half  way  acros^s  tlic  valley  tliere  was  a  grove  of 
maple  trees  ;  tlic  path  ran  close  beside  it,  skirting  it, 
and  tlien  going  l)eyond  it.  Along  tliis  tliey  went,  and 
Avere  just  emerging  I'rom  its  shelter,  wlien  tlie  guide 
made  a  warning  movement,  and  stood  still.  The  next 
instant  Claude  was  at  his  side.  'J'iie  Indian  grasp(3d 
Claude's  arm,  and  made  a  stealtliy  movement  backward. 

That  very  instant  Claude  saw  it  all.  A  man  was 
there  —  a  Euroi)ean.  Two  Indians  were  witli  him. 
lie  was  counting  some  birds  which  tlie  ludians  whji'C 
carrying.  It  seemed  as  tliougli  they  had  been  slioot- 
ing  through  tlie  valley,  and  this  was  tlieir  game.  They 
could  not  liave  been  shooting  very  recently,  however, 
as  no  sound  had  been  lieai'd.  This  was  the  siglit  that 
met  Claude's  eyes  as  he  stood  by  the  Indian,  and  as 
the  Indian  grasped  his  arm. 

It  was  too  late.  The  European  looked  up.  It  was 
Cazeneau  ! 

For  a  moment  he  stood  staring  nt  Claude  as  though 
he  was  some  apparition.  But  the  Indians  who  were 
behind,  and  who  came  forward,  not  knowing  what  was 
the  matter,  gave  to  tliis  vision  too  practical  a  cliarac- 
ter  ;  and  Cazeneau  saw  plainly  enougli  that,  however 
imaccountal)le  it  miglit  be,  tliis  was  in  very  deed  the 
man  whom  he  believed  to  be  in  safe  confinement  at 
Grand  Pre.  A  bitter  curse  escaped  him.  He  rushed 
towards  Claude,  followed  by  his  Indians. 

"  Scoundrel,"  he  cried,  ''  you  have  escaped  !  Aha  ! 
and  do  you  dare  to  come  on  my  track !  This  time  I 
will  make  sure  of  you." 

He  gnashed  his  teeth  in  his  fury,  and,  snatching  a 
rifle  from  one  of  his  Indians  who  were  near  him, 
aimed  it  at  Chiude,  and  })ulled  the  trigger. 


A   TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


161 


ere 
was 
ac- 
ver 
tlie 
at 
led 


g  a 
«iim, 


But  the  trigger  clicked,  and  that  was  all.  It  was 
not  loaded.  With  another  curse  Cazeneau  dashed  the 
rifle  to  the  ground,  and  turned  towards  tlie  other  In- 
dian. All  tliis  had  been  the  work  ol'  a  moment.  The 
next  moment  Claude  sprang  foi'wai'd  with  (h'awn  sword. 

''  Villain,"  he  cried,  ''  and  assassin  !  draw,  and  light 
like  a  man  !  " 

At  these  words  Cazeneau  was  forced  to  turn,  with- 
out having  had  time  to  get  the  otiier  Indian's  rille,  for 
Claude  was  close  to  liim,  and  the  glittei'ing  steel  fhislied 
before  his  eyes.  He  drew  his  sword,  and  retreating 
backward,  put  himself  on  guard. 

"  Seize  this  lellow  !  "  he  cried  to  liis  Indians  ;  "  seize 
him  !  In  the  name  of  your  great  fathei-,  the  King  of 
France,  seize  him,  I  tell  you ! " 

The  Indians  looked  forward.  There,  l)e]iind  Claude, 
diey  saw  six  other  Indians  —  their  own  friends.  They 
shook  tlieir  heads. 

'^  Too  many,"  said  they. 

''  You  fellows  !  "  crie<l  Cazeneau  to  Claude's  Indians, 
"  I  am  the  officer  of  your  great  father,  t!ie  King  of 
France.  This  man  is  a  traitor.  I  order  you  to  seize 
him,  in  the  king's  name." 

Claude's  Indians  stood  there  motionless.  They  did 
not  seem  to  understand. 

All  this  time  Cazeneau  was  keeping  uj)  a  defence, 
and  parrying  Claude's  attack.  He  was  a  skilful 
swordsman,  and  he  wished  to  take  Claude  alive  if 
possible,  rather  than  to  figlit  with  him.  So  he  tried 
once  more.  He  supposed  tliat  Claude's  Indians  did 
not  understand.  He  therefore  told  liis  Indians  to  tell 
the  others  in  their  language  what  was  wanted.  At 
this  the  two  walked  over  to  the  six,  and  began  talking. 

11 


T^ 


162 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


\\ 


!; ! 


Cascncau  watched  tliem  earnestly.  ITe  saw,  to  liis  in- 
finite rage,  tliat  his  words  had  no  eficct  whatever  on 
Chiude's  Indians. 

''  Coward,"  cried  Claude,  "  coward  and  villain  !  yon 
must  fight.  My  Indians  are  faithful  to  me.  You  liato 
to  fight,  —  you  are  afraid,  —  but  you  must,  or  I  will 
beat  you  to  death  with  the  l)lade  of  my  sword." 

At  this  Cazeneau  turned  purple  with  rage.  lie  saw 
how  it  was.  He  determined  to  show  this  colonist  all  his 
skill,  and  woinid  him,  and  still  take  him  alive.  So,  with 
a  curse,  he  rushed  upon  Claude.  I>ut  his  own  excite- 
ment interfered  with  that  display  of  skill  wliich  he  in- 
tended to  show  ;  and  Claude,  who  had  regained  his 
coolness,  had  the  advantage  in  this  respect. 

A  few  strokes  showed  Cazeneau  that  he  had  found 
his  master.  But  this  discovery  only  added  to  his  rage. 
He  determined  to  bi-ing  the  contest  to  a  speedy  issue. 
With  this  intent  he  lunged  forward  with  a  deadly 
thrust.  But  the  thrust  was  turned  aside,  and  the  next 
instant  Claude's  sword  passed  through  the  body  of 
Cazeneau. 


! 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


1G3 


CHAPTER   XVI. 


REUNION. 


THE  wounded  man  fell  to  the  ground,  and  Claude, 
dropping  his  sword,  sank  on  his  knees  beside  him. 
In  that  one  instant  all  his  anger  and  his  hate  fled 
away.  It  was  no  longer  Cazeneau,  his  mortal  enemy, 
wliom  ho  saw,  l)iit  his  fellow-creature,  laid  low  by 
his  hand.  Tlie  thought  sent  a  quiver  through  every 
nerve,  and  it  was  with  no  ordinary  emotion  that  Claude 
sought  to  relieve  liis  fallen  enemy.  But  Cazeneau  was 
unchanged  in  his  implacable  hate ;  or,  if  possible,  he 
was  even  more  bitter  and  more  malignant  now,  since 
he  had  thus  been  beaten. 

"  Away  I "  he  cried,  in  a  faint  voice.  "  Away  I 
Touch  me  not.  Do  not  exult  yet,  Montresor.  You 
think  you  have  —  avenged  —  your  cursed  father  — 
and  your  mother.  Do  not  exult  too  soon ;  at  least  you 
are  —  a  pauper  —  a  pauper  —  a  pauper  !  Away  !  My 
own  people  —  will  care  for  me." 

Claude  rose  at  this,  and  motioned  to  Cazeneau's  In- 
dians. They  came  up.  One  of  tliem  exjunined  the 
wound.  He  then  looked  up  at  Claude,  and  solemnly 
shook  his  head. 

"  May  Heaven  have  mercy  on  his  soul ! "  murmured 

Claude.  "  I  thank  Heaven  that  I  do  not  know  all  the 
bitter  wrong  that  he  has  done  to  my  parents.  What 
he  has  done  to  me  I  forgive." 


1G4 


THE  IJLV  AND    TIIK   CROSS. 


i 


Then,  by  ii  siiddoii  impulse,  lie  bent  down  over  the 
fallen  man.  ''  Cazeneau,"  said  he,  "  you're  a  dying 
man.  You  have  something  on  your  conscience  now. 
What  you  have  done  to  me  1  forgive.  May  others 
whom  you  have  iiijure(l  do  the  same." 

At  this  magnanimous  speech  (-azencau  rolled  his 
glaring  eyes  furiously  towards  tlie  young  man,  and 
then,  su[)plied  with  a  sudden  s[)asmo(lic  strength  \)\ 
his  own  i)assion,  he  cried  out,  with  bitter  oaths  and 
execrations,  — 

"  Curse  you  !  you  and  all  your  race  !  " 

He  raised  himsell'  slightly  as  he  said  this.  The  next 
instant  he  I'ell  back,  senseless.  For  a  moment  (4au(le 
stood  looking  at  the  liieless  form,  undecided  what  to 
do.  h^hould  he  remain  here  h>nger?  If  Cazeneau 
hould  revive,  it  would  only  be  to  curse  him  ;  if  he 
died,  he  could  do  nothing.  Would  it  not  be  better  to 
hurry  forward  after  the  rest  of  the  party,  who  could 
not  be  very  far  away  ?  If  so,  he  could  send  back  the 
priest,  who  would,  come  in  time  eitlier  for  lii'e  or  death. 
The  mtanent  that  he  tlumght  of  this  he  decided  that 
he  would  hurry  forward  for  the  priest.  lie  then  ex- 
plained to  his  guide  wliat  he  wished,  and  asked  the 
Indians  of  Cazeneau  how  far  the  rest  of  the  party  were. 
Tliey  ccmld  speak  but  very  little  French,  l)ut  managed 
to  make  Claude  understand  that  they  were  not  far.  To 
his  Indian  they  said  more,  and  he  told  his  employer. 
What  they  said  was  to  this  effect :  tliat  on  this  morning 
Cazeneau  had  left  the  party  with  these  two  Indians, 
for  the  sake  of  a  little  recreation  in  hunting.  The  rest 
had  gone  forward,  witli  the  understanding  that  tliey 
should  not  go  more  than  two  or  three  hours.  Then 
they  were  to  halt  and  wait.  Cazeneau  was  just  about 
to  go  after  them  as  Claude  came  up. 


ext 
iidc 
,  ttj 
eau 
'lie 
r  to 

.nia 

the 
itli. 
liat 
ox- 
tlio 
ro. 
ed 
To 
'or. 
iu^- 

est 
ley 
len 
out 


lis 


c 


f/ 


C 
r; 

!>► 

f 

c 

r: 


p 


:-ii>'; 


^MmJi'd': 


%■ 


''■'^M' 


r^^^'VK 


!     I 


ii  i 


;i 


/^    TALE  OF  ACADIA, 


105 


This  infnrm;iti(>n  sIiowimI  riuiulo  tluit  tlio  rost  of  tlio 
party  woro  within  easy  distance,  and  tliat  tlu^  priest 
coiiM  1)0  readied  and  sent  hack  Iief'ore  evening.  Ac- 
cordin^-ly  he  liesitated  no  longe",  hut  set  forth  at  once 
in  tlio  greatest  haste. 

The  thought  that  Minii  was  so  near  ins])ircd  Chiude 
witli  fresh  energy.  Altliough  he  had  l»een  on  the 
tramp  all  day,  and  without  rest,  —  although  he  had  re- 
ceived a  severe  and  unparalleled  shock  in  the  terrible 
fate  of  Cazeneau,  —  yet  the  thought  ol'  Minii  had  sulli- 
cicnt  power  over  him  to  chase  away  the  gloom  tliat  for 
a  time  had  fallen  over  his  soul.  It  was  enough  to  him 
now  that  a  priest  was  within  reacli.  Upon  that  priest 
he  could  throw  all  the  responsibility  which  arose  cmt  of 
the  situati(m  of  his  enemy.  These  were  the  thoughts 
that  animated  him,  and  urged  him  forward. 

The  Indians  of  (^izeneau  had  made  him  understand 
that  they  were  only  a  few  liours  ahead  ;  but  Claude 
thought  that  they  were  even  nearer.  lie  thouglit  it 
unlikely  that  Cazeneau  would  let  them  go  very  far,  and 
supposed  that  he  had  ordered  the  other  Indians  to 
go  slowly,  and  halt  after  al)out  three  or  four  miles.  lie 
therefore  confidently  expected  to  come  up  with  them 
after  traversing  about  that  distance. 

With  this  belief  he  urged  on  his  attendants,  and 
himself  put  forth  all  his  powers,  until  at  length,  after 
nearly  two  hours,  he  was  compelled  to  slacken  liis 
speed.  This  showed  that  they  were  not  so  near  as  ho 
had  expected ;  yet  still  he  believed  that  they  were 
just  ahead,  and  that  he  would  come  up  with  them 
every  moment. 

Thus  his  mind  was  kept  upon  a  constant  strain,  and 
he  was  always  on  the  lookout,  watching  both  with  eyes 


Jli 
11, 

mi 


f;!i 


i! 


!!>• 


IGG 


77//':    I.//.V  AX/)    /'///C   CROSS, 


;in(l  o.irw  cilbcr  lo  see  some  A^p\  of  tlioni,  or  to  liear 
tlioiii  lis  (hey  wciil  oil  lid'orc  liiai.  And  this  constant 
slniiii  ol"  niiii<l  ;iii<l  of  sense,  and  (his  snstainod  attitndo 
of  exjx'ctalioii,  iiiaih'  ihe  way  seem  less,  and  the  time 
seem  shoi't ;  and  thiiSj  lhoii;;li  (here  was  a  eortain  dis- 
a|)|)oinlmentj  yet  slill  (he  hope  ol"  seeing  (hem  every 
ne.\(  miiiii((!  I^rpi  11))  his  s|)iri(s  and  liis  enerj^'ies. 
'I'hiis  he  weii(  oii^  like  (Hie  who  ))iii'siies  an  ujnU  faiium^ 
until  a(  leiiL^lh  ihe  li;j,'h(,  ol'  day  l"ade(l  oiit^  and  tho 
shades  of  ni^'ht,   se((led  down   over   th(3   Idrest. 

11(^  wo'ild  eeiMainly  lia\'e  (hoiiL;'ht  (ha(^  he  had  missed 
(lie  way,  ha<I  il,  no(  heeii  I'or  one  i'aet  ;  and  (hat  \vas, 
(ha(  (he  (rack  ol'(h(!  parly  whom  Ik;  was  jairsning  was 
as  plain  as  excr,  and  (pii*(!  fresh,  showing  that  tlioy 
had  i)asse(I  o\-er  ii  this  very  da-v.  The  Indians  with 
him  were  all  eeiMain  or(hi^.  It  sliowed  him  that  how- 
(i\v\-  I'ast  h(^  had  gone,  \\\'<-y  had  hcen  going  yot  faster, 
and  (JiaL  ail  his  eagerness  (o  ealeh  up  wi(h  tliem  had 
not  heeii  grea(er  than  (heir  eagerness  to  advance. 
Why  was  (his?  Snddenly  the  whole  truth  Hashed 
upon   his   miiKh 

'^I'lie  |»riest  had  iinexi)(!cte(lly  shak(Ui  off  Cazi^iiean. 
lie  had  eviih'iidy  resohc^d  (o  (ry  (o  esca[)e.  His 
strange  inlhienee  over  (h(;  Indians  had,  no  douht,  en- 
abled him  to  mak(;  (hem  his  accomi)lic(!S.  Wilh  tho 
hope,  (lierefore,  ol"shaking  oil'  Cazeiieau,  lu;  had  hurried 
on  as  fast  as  ])ossihle. 

Still  (here  was  oik;  thing,  and  that  wa.-,  that  they 
would  hav(!  (o  bring  '![)  sonu'wh(,'iH;.  1(  was  moi'e  than 
probable  thai  (he  priest  would  tr}'  to  rea.ch  Canso.  In 
that  ("ise  Claude  had  only  (o  keej)  on  his  track,  and  he 
would  get  (o  (hi(  place  iio(  \ery  long  after  him;  sulli- 
ciently  soon,  at  any  ra(e,  to  prevent  missing  him.     A.s 


i'i 


il  tl 


iU 


As 


^    TALE   Ojr  ^.CADfA,  ^^^ 

«'""«  (rag„„.nt.  „.|,i,|,  ,„.  ,:,',"'':'';  "'"'^  '"adc  /n„„ 

^''''  -Indians  i„(;,„,„..,l  l,i„Hln    M      v.     ■ 
was  now  n„t  „„„■.  than  a     ,v  ,"     "'""  '■''  ''^'"-' 

"cw«  «.us    ,n,.st   w,  ;■''"' ^'''^'"'''^'^"'l-     TI,o 

Can«o  scene      :  -         V'"'^'  '"  ^''"'"''■-     '''In,  S 


a 


compollod  to 


Ke 


wai 


ting  i; 
to  g-ot  to  ( 


iiial 


'*^'  'i  ciiaiKuj  ( 


'I  J)ia(.'o  whero  tl 


advaiit; 


a]  ISO. 


V^^v\ 


;'/*''"^^'>i-wliil(wiial< 


(J 


^'^';  '111. I     {\y,^[ 


"•^J>'t'-<;'i(MV()nI(l| 


"i^;'  il  <A'/o/^. 


\\^ii^  tli.-tt  I 


>oiit   Iii 


polled  to  tl,ink  al 

^^^vvasto  ioll<nvt),o  tntrk") 
as  porKevoriiio] 
AH  tl 


J(; 


S     (•()I|J-S(i 


"3   ('oin- 


)( 


V  as 


P<>SSj|)|(. 


'foro   1 


"ivo  Olio  great 
'""  '^'^^  ''tpidiy  and 


\ 


o 


P"»«-    to  lutlt,    I 


^'^t  (lay  CLtudo   1 


""•'•fed  ojnvanl 


'"ipatioijco, 


;    '>oing  siistaiiiod    l,v    1 


^^''llioiit  st 


on- 


'^"I'portod  \nnx  on  tl 


^^^'^    also   l,y  tl 


''<^^/on',  like  tl 


'y'   •^'>jue   l,op,>  ,v'lii,.|,   I,.,, 
'^  preceding;-  dav.       J„f 


^jW.s  of  his  pursuit. 
^<^  I^^ugth,  towards  tl 


P'^rsuitofan^/././^, 


n  wa; 


a  J-iver,  and  the  iv,u\ 


soemed  i       l„(l,.  | 
JO  close  of  tiled, 


'^•v,  ;iiid  tjvej-  M 


)e 


JiJii. 


ly,  11 


sometimes  loaviug  ft;  and 


"'"  "''^'^^''  ''y  its  side   / 


;  "'oy  i-eaclied 
<"'  miles. 


aguni  i-etuniing  to  it.     ^^\ 


le 


'  tl 


r^ 


IG8 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


1  ^  f 


I     I 


1  - 


i  \ 


I' 


patli  was  broad,  tlic  woods  were  free  from  underbrush, 
and  more  open  than  usual. 

Suddenly  tlie  gnide  stopped  and  looked  forward, 
with  the  instinct  of  his  Indian  caution.  But  Claude 
had  one  idea  only  in  liis  mind,  and  knowing  well  tliat 
there  could  be  no  eneniv  now,  since  Cazeneau  was  out 
of  tlie  way,  he  hurried  onward.  Some  moving  figures 
attracted  his  gaze.  Then  he  saw  liorses,  and  some 
men  and  women.  Tlien  he  emerged  from  the  trees, 
bursting  forth  at  a  run  into  an  open  place  which  lay 
upon  the  river  bank.  One  glance  was  sufficient.  It 
was  the  priest  and  liis  party.  With  a  cry  of  joy  he 
rushed  forward.  Tlie  otliers  saw  him  coming.  The 
priest  turned  in  amazement ;  for  he  had  no  idea  that 
Chuule  was  so  near.  Before  he  could  sjjcak  a  word, 
however,  the  young  man  had  flung  himself  into  his 
arms,  and  the  priest  returned  his  embrace  w^tli  equal 
warmth.  Claude  then  turned  to  ^limi,  who  was  stand- 
ing near,  and  in  tlie  rapture  of  that  meeting  was  on 
the  point  of  catching  her  in  his  arms  also ;  but  Mimi 
saAv  tlie  movement,  and  retreated  shyly,  while  a  man- 
tling blush  over  her  lovely  features  showed  botli  joy 
and  confusion.  So  Claude  had  to  content  himself  with 
taking  her  hand,  wliicli  he  seized  in  both  of  his,  and 
held  as  thougli  he  Avould  never  let  go. 

After  these  first  greetings,  there  followed  a  torrent 
of  (piestions  from  botli  sieles.  Tlie  priest's  story  was 
but  a  short  one.  On  tlie  day  wlien  Cazeneau  had  left 
them,  he  had  gone  on  a  sliort  hunting  excursion,  simi)ly 
for  the  sake  of  relieving  the  monotony  of  the  long 
tramp.  He  had  cliarged  tlie  Indians  not  to  go  farther 
than  two  hours  ahead.  His  intention  was  to  make  a 
circuit,  and  join  them  by  evening.     But  the  Indians 


II 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


169 


with 
,  iiiid 


In 


cut 


was 

ll  left 

Imply 

long 

rther 

[c  a 

Llians 


were  altogether  under  the  influence  of  Pere  Michel, 
and  were  willing  to  do  anything  that  he  wished.  The 
"Great  Father/'  —  the  Frencli  king,  —  witli  wliom 
Cazeneau  thought  he  could  overawe  them,  was  in  truth 
a  very  shadow^y  and  unsubstantial  personage.  l>iit 
Pere  Michel  was  one  wliom  they  knew\  and  for  some 
reason  regarded  w^ith  boundless  veneration.  AVhen, 
therefore,  he  proposed  to  tliem  to  go  on,  they  at  once 
acceded.  For  P^re  Michel  caught  at  this  unexpected 
opportunity  to  escape,  which  was  thus  presented,  and 
at  once  set  forth  at  the  utmost  possible  speed.  He 
travelled  all  tliat  day  and  far  into  the  niglit,  until  lie 
thouglit  tliat  a  sufficient  distance  had  been  put  l)e- 
tw^een  liimsclf  and  Cazeneau  to  prevent  capture.  He 
would  have  gone  nnicli  farther  on  this  day  liad  it  not 
been  for  Mimi,  wlio,  already  fatigued  by  her  long  jour- 
ney, was  unable  to  endure  this  increased  exertion,  and 
after  trying  in  vain  to  keep  up,  was  compelhul  to  rest. 
They  had  been  encamping  here  for  about  tln-ee  liours, 
and  were  already  delif)erating  about  a  niglit  journey, 
when  Claude  came  up. 

The  time  had  been  spent  in  constructing  a  sort  of 
litter,  wdiich  the  priest  intended  to  sling  between  two 
horses,  hoping  by  this  means  to  take  Mimi  onward 
with  less  fatigue.  lie  had  made  up  his  mind,  as 
Claude  indeed  had  suspect(Ml,  to  make  for  Canso,  so 
as  to  put  himself  out  of  the  reach  of  Cazeneau. 

Claude  then  told  the  priest  his  story,  to  wliich  tlic 
latter  listened  with  deep  emotion.  FTc  had  not  antici- 
pated anything  like  this.  Amazed  as  he  had  been  at 
the  sudden  appearance  of  Claude,  he  had  thought  that 
by  some  happy  accident  the  yoniig  man  had  eluded 
Cazeneau,  and  he  now^  learned  how  it  really  was. 


m 


>    jwmn H^w^t^^^p^^ 


170 


7//E  LILY  AXD    THE   CROSS. 


[' 


(■ 


ii'i 


I.'' I 


('( 


1 1 


For  some  time  lie  said  not  ti  single  word,  and  indeed 
tliere  was  notliii"^;  that  lie  could  say.  He  knew  well 
that  Claude  had  been  deei)ly  and  Ibidly  wronged  by 
Cazeneau,  and  lie  knew  also  tliat  this  last  act  was 
hardly  to  be  considered  as  aiiytliing  else  than  tlie  act 
of  Cazeneau  himsell",  wlio  first  attacked  Claude,  and 
forced  liini  to  iiglit. 

J5ut  there  still  remained  to  be  considered  what 
might  now  be  done.  Claud(;'s  first  thought  was  the 
one  which  liad  l)een  in  his  mind  during  th(;  past  day; 
that  is  to  say,  he  still  thought  of  sending  tlie  priest 
back  to  CazenoaU;  witliout  thinking  of  the  distance, 
and  tlie  time  that  now  lay  between.  His  excitement 
had  prevented  him  irom  taking  this  into  consideration. 
The  priest,  liowever,  at  once  reminded  him  of  it. 

''I  do  not  see,"  said  he,  ^^  what  I  can  do.  You  for- 
get how  long  it  is  since  you  left  him.  lie  must  be 
dead  and  buried  by  this  time.  Even  if  he  sjiould 
linger  longer  than  you  expected,  J  could  not  hope  to 
reach  that  place  in  time  to  do  anything,  not  even  to 
bury  him.  Jt  is  a  good  two  days'  journey  from  here 
to  there.  It  is  two  days  since  you  left  him.  It  would 
take  two  days  more  forme  to  reach  him.  That  makes 
four  da^^s.  By  that  time,  if  he  is  dead,  he  would 
already  be  buried  ;  and  if  he  is  living,  he  would  be 
conveyed  by  the  Indians  to  some  place  of  rest  and 
slielter. 

''As  long  as  1  thought  that  Cazeneau  was  pursuing 
us,"  continued  the  priest,  ''  I  tried  to  advance  as  rap- 
idly as  possible,  and  intended  to  go  to  Canso,  where 
I  should  be  sale  from  him.  But  now  that  he  can 
trouble  us  no  more,  tiiere  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
not  go  to  Louisbourg.     That  will  be  better  for  Mimi, 


A    TALE  OF  A  CAD/A.  ^yj 

and  it  will  also  suit  my  vicnvs  l)ettor      Von   f 

as  well  go  there,  since  you  will  1  e    ibl,        '        '  '""' 


: 


I 


:l    I 


172 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


;'M^ 


:'  ! 


CHAPTER    XVII. 


AMONG   FRIENDS. 


:    f 


if) 


:  1 ' 


IN  order  to  make  their  escape  tlie  more  certain,  tlic 
priest  liad  carried  oil'  tlie  horse  wliich  Cazeiieau 
had  used,  so  that  now  Chinde  was  no  more  ol»ligcd  to 
go  on  foot.  Mimi  no  long'(;r  com])hiined  of"  fatigue, 
but  was  aV)le  to  bear  \\\)  witli  tlie  iatigues  of  the  rest 
of  the  journey  in  a  wonderful  way.  Claude  did  not 
seem  inclined  to  make  much  use  of  the  spare  horse, 
for  he  walked  much  of  the  way  at  Mimi's  side,  and 
where  there  was  not  room,  he  walked  at  her  horse's 
liead. 

The  remainder  of  the  journey  occupied  about  four 
days,  and  it  was  very  nmch  like  what  it  had  been; 
that  is,  a  track  through  the  woods,  sometimes  rough, 
sometimes  smooth.  The  whole  track  showed  marks 
of  constant  use,  which  the  priest  explained  to  Claude 
as  being  caused  by  droves  of  cattle,  which  were  con- 
stantly being  sent  from  Grand  Pre  to  Louisbourg, 
where  they  fetclied  a  liandsome  price.  The  Indian 
trails  in  other  places  Avere  far  rougher  and  narrower, 
besides  being  interrupted  by  fallen  trees.  The  only 
difficulty  that  tliey  had  to  encounter  was  in  crossing 
the  Strait  of  Canso  ;  but  after  following  the  shore  for 
a  few  miles,  they  came  to  a  place  where  there  was  a 
barge,  used  to  transport  cattle.     Two  or  three  French 


ill 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


173 


fishermen  lived  here,  and  tliey  took  the  wliole  party 
over  to  the  opposite  side.  Alter  this  they  continued 
their  journey. 

That  journey  seemed  to  Claude  altogctlier  too  short. 
Each  day  passed  away  too  ra{)idly.  Wandering  by 
the  side  of  Minii  through  the  fragrant  forests,  under 
the  clear  sky,  listening  to  her  gentle  voice,  and  catch- 
ing tlie  sweet  smile  ol'  her  innocent  face,  it  seemed  to 
liim  as  tliough  he  would  like  to  go  on  tliis  way  forever. 
A  cloud  of  sadness  rested  on  licr  gentle  hrow,  wliich 
made  her  somewhat  unlike  the  s])ri!''litlv  a'irl  of  the 
schooner,  and  more  like  the  despairing  maid  whom  lie 
had  rescued  on  the  raft. 

But  there  was  reason  for  his  sadness.  JMimi  was  a 
fond  and  loving  daughter.  She  had  chosen  to  follow 
her  father  across  the  ocean,  w!ien  she  might  have  lived 
at  home  in  comfort :  and  the  death  of  that  father  had 
been  a  terrible  lilow.  For  some  time  the  blow  had 
been  alleviated  by  the  terrors  which  she  felt  about 
Cazeneau  and  his  designs.  IJut  now,  since  he  and  his 
designs  were  no  more  to  be  thought  of,  the  sorrow  of 
her  bereavement  returned. 

Still,  she  was  not  without  consolation,  and  even  joy. 
It  was  joy  to  her  to  have  escaped  from  the  man  and 
from  the  danger  that  she  dreaded.  It  was  also  joy  to 
her  to  find  herself  once  more  in  company  with  Claude, 
in  whom  she  had  all  along  taken  a  tender  interest. 
Until  she  heard  his  storv  from  his  own  lips  she  had 
not  h'.id  any  idea  that  he  had  lieen  tlie  victim  of  Caze- 
neau. She  had  supposed  that  lie  was  in  the  schooner 
all  the  time,  and  had  wondered  why  Ik^  did  not  make 
his  appearance.  And  her  anxiety  about  her  father, 
and  grief  over  his  death,  prevented  her  from  dwelling 
much  upon  this. 


\\ 


II 


i' 


:l\ 


III 


Ml 


' 


174 


TI/E  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


Atlcngtli  tlicy  rnnio  in  si<;-1it  .)rtlic  kcji.  Tlio  trees 
lierc  were  siiiall,  stunted,  and  st-nibhy  ;  the  soil  was 
poor,  tlie  grass  coarse  and  interspersed  wilh  moss  and 
stones.  In  many  ])laees  it  was  hogi^-y,  wliile  in  others 
it  was  rocky.  Tlicir  path  ran  ahuii;'  the  slioi'c  lor 
some  miles,  and  then  entoi'cd  the  woods.  For  soiiii; 
distance  iarther  they  went  on,  and  then  emerged  into 
an  open  country,  wliere  they  saw^  l>ei'ore  them  the  goal 
of  tlieii"  long  joui'ney. 

Open  fields  lay  hel'oi'c^  them,  with  houses  and  l)ai-ns. 
Fartlier  on  tliere  lay  a  heautil'ul  hai'hoi-,  ahout  live  or 
six  miles  long  and  one  mile  \vide,  with  a  naiM'ow  en- 
trance into  the  outer  sea,  and  an  island  wliich  com- 
manded the  entrance.  Ui)on  this  island,  and  also  on 
one  side  of  the  entrance,  were  ])atteries,  while  on  the 
side  of  the  hai'hor  on  which  they  were  standing,  and 
about  two  miles  away,  was  anotlier  l)attery,  larger 
than  either  of  these.  At  the  farthest  end  of  the  liar- 
bor  were  small  liouses  of  farmers  or  ilsjiermen,  with 
barns  and  cultivated  fields.  In  the  harltoi-  were  some 
schooners  and  small  lishing  vessels,  and  two  large 
frigates. 

But  it  was  n])on  the  end  of  the  harbor  nearest  to 
themselves  that  their  eyes  turned  with  the  most 
pleasure.  ITero  Louisbourg  stood,  its  walls  and  si)ii*es 
rising  before  them,  and  tlie  flag  of  France  floating 
from  the  citadel.  'J'he  town  was  ahout  half  a  mile 
long,  surrounded  by  a  stockade  and  occasional  bat- 
teries. V\xn\  the  highest  ])oint  the  eitadid  stood, 
with  the  guns  pee]u'ng  over  the  ])ara])(^t.  The  path 
here  entered  a  road,  whicli  i-an  towai'ds  the  town; 
and  now,  going  to  this  I'oad,  they  went  on,  and 
soon  reached  the  gate. 


liar- 
wit  li 
s(>ni(3 


iiii'i;'(3 


^t   to 

most 

^l»i^es 

iitiiiii,' 

luilo 

l)!lt- 

itood, 
path 


own 


A    TALF.    or  ACADIA. 


175 


and 


On  entering  tlu^  g'alc,  they  \V(M-(>  sto[)po(l  and  ques- 
tioned ;  but  the  priest,  who  seeiiiLMl  to  l»e  known, 
easily  satisfied  his  exaniineis,  and  they  were  allowed 
to  go  on.  Th(?y  went  alon^j::  a  wide  street,  which, 
liowever,  was  unpaviMl,  and  lined  on  eacli  side  with 
houses  of  un})retending  appearance.  Most  of  them 
were  built  of  wood,  some  of  logs,  one  or  two  of  stone. 
All  were  of  small  size,  with  small  doors  and  win- 
dows, and  huge,  stumin'  chimneys.  The  sti'eet  w^as 
straight,  and  led  to  the  citadel,  in  which  was  the  gov- 
ernf)r's  residence.  Other  sti'eets  crossed  at  right  an- 
gles with  much  regularity,  "^rhere  were  a  few  shops, 
but  not  many.  Most  of  these  were  lower  down,  near 
the  water,  and  were  of  that  class  to  which  the  soldiers 
and  sailors  resorted.  Outside  the  citadel  Avas  a  largo 
church,  built  of  undressed  stone,  and  without  any  j)re- 
tensions  to  architectnral  beauty.  Jieyond  this  was  the 
entrance  to  the  citadel.  '^I'his  })lace  was  on  the  crest 
of  the  hill,  and  was  surrounded  l)y  a  dry  ditch  and  a 
Avail.  A  drawbridge  led  across  the  ditch  to  the  gate. 
On  reaching  this  place  tlie  party  had  to  stop,  and  the 
priest  sent  in  his  name  to  the  gov'ernor  or  conmiaiid- 
ant.  After  waiting  some  time,  a  message  came  to 
admit  them.  'rhereui)()n  they  all  passed  thi'ongh,  and 
found  themselves  inside  the  citadel. 

They  found  this  to  be  an  irregular  space,  altout  two 
hundred  fact  in  length  and  width,  sui-i'ounded  by 
walls,  under  which  were  arched  cells,  that  were  used 
for  storage  or  magazines,  and  nn'ght  also  serve  as 
casemates  in  time  of  siege.  There  were  bari-ac^ks  at 
one  end.  and  at  the  other  tlu^  governor's  residence, 
built  of  stone.  Upon  the  parade  tro()))s  were  exercis- 
ing, and  in  front  of  the  barracks  a  band  was  playing. 


176 


THE  LILY  AXD   THE   CROSS. 


1:1 


;  :  ) 


fi  i 


it 


Tlie  whole  acciic  was  thus  one  oi  iiiiich  iuiiiiijitioii ;  in- 
deed, it  seemed  very  iiiueh  so  to  tlie  eyes  of  tliese 
wanderers,  so  long  aecustonied  to  tlie  solitude  of  the 
sea,  or  of  the  primeval  forest.  However,  they  di<l  not 
wait  to  gaze  u[)on  the  seene,  hut  went  on  at  onee, 
without  delav,  to  tiie  eonnnandant. 

The  eonnnandant  —  Monsieur  Aug'uste  de  Florian-n 
received  them  with  much  })oliteness.  He  was  a  man 
of  apparently  about  forty  years  of  age,  medium  stature, 
and  good-natured  face,  without  any  particular  sign  of 
character  or  talent  in  his  general  expression.  This  was 
the  man  whom  Ca/eneau  was  to  succeed,  whose  arrival 
he  had  been  expecting  for  a  long  time.  He  received 
the  new  comers  politely,  and,  after  having  heard  tlio 
priest's  account  of  Minii,  —  who  she  was,  and  how 
he  had  found  her,  —  he  at  once  sent  for  his  wife,  who 
took  her  to  her  own  apartments,  and  informed  her 
that  this  must  be  her  home  as  long  as  she  was  at 
Louisbourg. 

The  commandant  now  questioned  tlie  priest  more 
particularly  about  the  Arethuse.  Pere  Michel  left 
the  narration  to  Claude.  He  had  been  introduced 
under  the  name  of  M.  Motier,  and  did  not  clioose  to 
say  anything  about  ]n"s  real  name  and  rank,  for  fear 
that  it  might  lead  him  into  fresli  difHculties.  So  Claude 
gave  an  account  of  the  meeting  between  the  schooner 
and  the  raft,  and  also  told  all  that  he  knew  about  the 
fate  of  the  Arethuse.  The  priest  added  sonictliing 
more  that  he  had  learned,  and  inibrmed  tlio  command- 
ant that  he  could  learn  all  tlie  rest  from  Mimi. 

The  governor's  polite  attention  did  not  end  with 
this  visit.  He  at  once  set  about  procuring  a  place 
where  Claude  might  stay,  and  would  have  done  the 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


177 


in- 


Qoro 

|e  to 
fear 

liiido 

)ner 

the 

liiiig 

iiid- 

Ai\\ 
ace 
Itho 


same  kind  ofTice  to  IVre  Midiel,  had  not  the  priest  de- 
clined. Ife  had  a  phice  wliere  he  eoidd  slay  with  one 
of  tlie  priests  of  tlio  town,  wlio  was  a,  I'rit.'nd  ;  and  bo- 
wides,  he  intended  to  carry  on  tiie  duties  of  his  sacred 
ofHce.  Claude,  therefore,  was  compelled  to  sei)ai'ato 
himself  from  the  good  pri(,'st,  who,  however,  assured 
liim  tliat  he  would  see  liini  often.  l>efore  evem'ng 
he  found  iiimself  in  comfortable  ([uarters  in  the  houso 
of  tlie  naval  storekeeper,  who  received  him  witli  tiio 
utmost  cordiality  as  the  friend  ol"  the  connnandant. 

The  next  dav  Claude  saw  Pere  Miciiel.  lie  seemed 
ti'onbled  in  mind,  and,  after  some  ([uestions,  inlbrmed 
him  tliat  he  had  come  all  the  way  to  Louisl)onrg  for 
the  express  purpose  of  getting  some  letters  which  ho 
had  been  expecting  from  France.  Tliey  should  liavo 
been  here  by  this  time,  but  had  not  come,  and  lie 
was  afraid  that  they  had  been  sent  out  in  the  Are- 
thuse.  If  so,  there  might  be  endless  trouble  and  con- 
fusion, since  it  would  take  too  long  altogether  to  write 
again  and  receive  answers.  It  was  a  business  ol'  inli- 
nite  importance  to  himself  ajid  to  others  ;  and  Pere 
Michel,  who  had  never  before,  since  Claude  had 
known  him,  lost  his  serenity,  now  appeared  quite 
broken  down  by  (lisapi)()intment. 

His  present  purpose  was  to  go  back  and  see  about 
the  burial  of  Cazeneau  ;  but  he  would  wait  for  another 
week,  partly  for  the  sake  of  rest,  and  partly  to  wait 
until  Cazeneau's  Indians  had  l)een  heard  from.  He 
had  sent  out  two  of  the  Indians  who  had  come  with 
him  to  make  in(pn"i"ies;  and  when  they  returned,  he 
would  go.  He  was  also  waiting  in  the  hope  tliat 
another  ship  might  ai'rive.  There  was  some  talk  ol'  a 
frigate  wdiicli  was  to  bring  out  some  sajopers  and  engi- 
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178 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


%-^ 


ncci's  for  tlic  works.  It  was  tlio  Graiid  Moiiarqno. 
She  luid  not  come  as  yet,  nor  liad  she  left  l>y  last  ad- 
vices ;  but  still  she  was  lial)le  to  leave  at  any  moment. 

"  Still/'  said  the  priest,  "  it  is  useless  to  expect  any- 
thing or  to  hope  for  anytliing.  The  king  is  weak. 
lie  is  notliing.  TTow  many  years  lias  he  been  a  vol 
fahuiud?  Fleury  was  51  fit  minister  for  sucli  a  king. 
Weak,  bigoted,  conceited,  Fleury  had  only  one  policy, 
and  that  was,  to  keej)  things  quiet,  and  not  suffer  any 
change.  ]f  wrongs  had  ]>een  done,  ho  refused  to  right 
tbein.  Fleury  has  l»ecn  a  curse  to  France.  But  since 
his  death  his  successors  may  be  even  worse.  The 
state  of  France  is  ]io])eless.  The  country  is  over- 
whelmed with  debt,  and  is  in  the  iiands  of  unprincipled 
vagabonds.  The  king  has  said  that  he  would  govern 
without  ministers  :  but  that  only  means  tliat  he  will 
allow  himself  to  be  swayed  by  fivorites.  Fleury  lias 
gone,  and  in  his  place  there  comes—  who  ?  ^V  hy,  the 
Duchesse  de  Chateauroux.  She  is  now  the  minister 
of  France." 

The  priest  spoke  with  indescribable  bitterness  ;  so 
much  so,  indeed,  that  Claude  was  amazed. 

"  The  latest  news,"  continued  Pore  Michel,  '^  is,  that 
England  is  going  to  send  an  army  to  assist  Austria. 
The  ([ueen,  Maria  Theresa,  will  now  be  al)le  to  turn 
the  scales  against  France,  "^fhis  means  war,  and  tht^ 
declaration  nuist  follow  soon.  Well,  poor  old  Fleury 
kept  out  of  war  witli  England  till  Ik'  di(Ml.  But  that 
was  Walpole's  doing,  perhaps,  "^rhey  were  wonderl'ul 
friends;  and  perhaps  it  was  just  as  well.  Ibit  this 
new  ministry — tliis  woman  and  her  friends — they 
will  make  a  change  for  France  :  and  1  only  hope,  wliile 
they  are  reversing  Fleury's  policy  in  some  things, 
they'll  do  it  in  others. 


A    TALI-:   OF  ACADIA. 


179 


so 

tliiit 
ria. 
uru 

tlio 

my 
hat 
rial 
this 
hoy 
hilo 


"  Franco,"  contiiuuMl  P/re  Mic^hcl,  in  a  f;-lt)niny  tone, 

"France?   is    rotten   l(»  tlu;   cm-i all    France,  hoth   at 

linmo  and  ahi'oad.  Whv,  even  onl  here  the  fatal 
system  reig-ns.  Tiiis  ('onnnandant,"  he  went  en,  dnip- 
l)ini;'  his  voice,  ''  is  as  deeply  iiiii)licated  as  any  of 
them.  lie  was  a|)|)ointed  by  a  c<Mirt  I'avorite:  so  was 
Ca/enean.  lie  came  ont  with  the  intention  ol"  making- 
liis  liirtniu^,  not  lor  the  sake  of  hnildin^-  n[)  a  French 
empiie  in  America. 

"  It's  no  nse.  France  can't  huild  np  an  emjtiro 
licre.  '^I'he  Finilish  will  «»et  America.  Tiiev  ci>me 
out  as  a  people,  and  settle  in  tlie  fon-st  :  lait  we  come 
ont  as  ollicials,  to  make  money  out  of  our  countiy. 
Already  the  Fn.i;iisli  ai-(^  millions,  and  we  ai"e  thou- 
Han<ls.  What  chance  is  there  for  us?  Some  day  an 
En;^lish  army  will  couk!  and  drive  us  out  ol  lie  Hoy- 
ale,  and  out  of  Canada,  as  tlu^y've  already  driven  us 
out  of  Acadie.  Oui"  own  jteople  are  discoura|;"ed ; 
and,  though  they  love  France,  yet  tlu^y  feci  less  op- 
pressed under  English  rule.  Can  there  bo  a  worse 
connnontai'v  on  French  rule  than  that? 

"And  you,  my  son,"  continued  the  ])riest,  in  a 
mildei'  tone,  Imt  one  which  was  e(pially  cai'uest, 
"don't  think  of  ii'oinii'  to  France.  Veu  can  doiiothinu" 
there.  It  would  re([uire  the  expenditure  of  a  foituno 
in  ])ribery  to  <i'et  to  the  ears  of  those  wlnt  sin-round 
the  kin^' ;  and  then  there  would  be  no  ho))e  of  obtain- 
ing justice  i'rom  then).  All  are  intei'ested  in  letting 
things  remain  as  they  were.  The  wrong  done  was 
counnitted  years  ago.  The  estates  have  |)asse<]  into 
utlier  hands,  and  from  one.'  owner  to  another.  The 
present  holders  are  all-powcniul  at  court  :  and  if  you 
were  to  go  there,  you  would  only  wear  out  your  youth, 
and  accomplish  nothing." 


T 


180 


THE  LIL  Y  AND   THE  CROSS. 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 


LOUTSBOURG. 


THERE  was  a  littlo  hcaii  momJc  at  Loiiisbourg, 
wlncli,as  miglit  ])0  oxpocted,  was  quite  gay,  since 
it  was  Frencli.  At  tlic  lioad  stood,  of  course,  tlie 
commandant  and  liis  lady ;  then  came  tlie  military 
officers  witli  their  ladies,  and  the  naval  officers  with- 
out their  ladies,  together  witli  the  unmarried  oflicers 
of  both  services.  As  the  gentlemen  far  outnumbered 
the  ladies,  the  latter  were  always  in  great  demand ; 
so  tliat  the  ladies  of  the  civilians,  tliough  of  a  de- 
cidedly inferior  grade,  were  objects  of  attention  and 
of  homage.  This  being  the  case,  it  will  readily  be 
porccuved  what  an  eftect  was  produced  upon  the  hccno 
monde  at  Louisbourg  by  the  advent  of  such  a  briglit, 
particular  star  as  Mimi.  Young,  beautiful,  accom- 
plished, she  also  added  tlie  charms  of  rank,  and  title, 
and  supposed  wealth.  The  Coant  de  Laborde  had 
been  prominent  at  court,  and  his  name  was  well 
known.  His  daughter  was  therefore  looked  upon  as 
one  of  the  greatest  heiresses  of  France,  and  there  was 
not  a  young  officer  at  Fjouisljourg  wlio  did  not  inward- 
ly vow  to  strive  to  win  so  dazzling  a  prize. 

She  would  at  once  have  l)een  compelled  to  undergo 
a  round  of  the  most  exhaustive  I'estivities,  had  it  not 
been   for   one   thing  —  she  was   in   mourning.      Her 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


tsi 


bereavement  had  l)oon  severe,  and  war<  so  reccMvt 
that  all  thoughts  of  gayety  were  out  of  the  (inestit)n. 
This  fact  lessened  the  ehanees  wlilcli  thi^  gallant 
French  cavaliers  miglit  otherwise  have  liad.  hut  in 
no  respect  lessened  their  dc\()tion.  Beauty  in  dis- 
tress is  always  a  toucliing  and  a  n^sistless  ohjcct  to 
every  cliivalrous  heart;  and  here  the  ]>cauty  was  ex- 
quisite, and  the  distress  was  undcniahly  great. 

The  coniniandant  and  his  lady  liad  appropriatiMl 
Minii  from  tlie  first,  and  Minii  congratulate<l  herself 
on  having  found  a  liome  so  easily.  It  was  pleasant 
to  her,  after  her  recent  iinj)risonmenf,  to  he  among 
people  who  looked  \\\)  to  her  with  respectful  and 
alTectionate  esteem.  Monsieur  de  Floriau  mav  not 
have  been  one  of  tlie  best  of  ukmi  :  indeecl,  it  was  said 
that  he  had  been  diligently  feathering  liis  nest  at  the 
expense  of  the  governnient  ever  since  lie  had  be(Mi 
in  Louislxmrg;  but  in  s[)ite  of  that,  lie  was  a  kind- 
liearted  man,  while  his  wife  was  a  kind-liearte<l  wo- 
man, and  one,  too,  who  was  full  of  tact  and  delicacy. 
Mimi's  position,  therefore,  was  iis  pleasant  as  it  could 
be,  under  tlie  circumstances. 

After  one  or  two  days  had  passed,  Claude  began  to 
be  aware  of  the  fact  that  life  in  I.ouisboui-g  was  mucli 
less  pleasant  than  life  on  the  \\)\n\.  Tiiere  he  was  all 
day  long  close  beside  ^limi,  or  at  her  horse's  hiicUe, 
with  confidential  chat  ahout  a  thousa.nd  things,  with 
eloquent  nothings,  and  sliy  glances,  and  tender  litthi 
attentions,  and  delicate  services.  Here,  licwevi'r,  it 
was  all  dilferent.  All  this  had  c-ome  to  an  eml.  The 
difficulty  now  was,  to  see  ^limi  at  aih  It  is  true  there 
was  no  lack  of  friendliness  on  the  jiart  of  tlie  com- 
mandant, or  of  his  g(tod  lady;  but  t'lcn  he  was  only 


182 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


I     i 


t:i 


~n\ 


Olio  anion;;'  ni;my,  wlio  mU  wcro  roceiviMl  with  tlio 
same  genial  welcome  i»y  this  gonial  and  [xdishcd 
pair.  'IMie  chivaliy  of  Lonishonrg  crowded  to  do 
homage  to  th(3  heautilul  stranger,  and  the  })osition  oi' 
Clande  did  not  secnn  to  he  at  all  more  i'avoral)le  than 
that  of  the  vounii'est  cadet  in  the  service. 

His  ohseurity  now  tronltled  Claude  greatly.  lie 
I'ound  himself  (|uite  insignilicant  in  Louishonrg.  If 
he  had  possessed  the  smallest  military  rank,  Ik;  would 
have  ]»een  of  more  ct)nse(|uence.  He  thought  of  com- 
ing out  in  his  true  name,  as  the  Count  de  Montresor, 
hut  Avas  deterred  h\'  the  tiiou;;-]it  of  the  trouhles  into 
whicli  he  liad  ali-eady  fallen  hy  the  disco\  ery  of  hin 
name.  Jlow  mucli  of  that  arrest  was  duo  to  the  ill 
will  of  Ca/eneau,  and  how  inu(,'li  to  tho  actual  dangers 
besetting  him  as  a  Montresor,  lio  could  not  know.  Ifo 
saw  plainly  enough  that  tlio  dechiration  of  his  name 
and  rank  might  lead  to  a  now  arrest  at  tlie  hands  of 
this  commandant,  in  which  case  escape  could  hardly 
bo  thought  of.  lie  saw  tliat  it  was  bettor  far  for  him 
to  bo  insignificant,  yet  free,  than  t(j  bo  the  highest 
personage  in  Louishonrg,  and  liable  to  be  flung  into 
a  dungeon.  IJis  ignorance  of  French  aifairs,  and  of 
the  actual  history  of  his  faniilv,  made  him  cautious: 
so  that  ho  resolved  not  to  mention  the  trutli  about 
himself  to  any  one.  Under  all  these  circumstances, 
(laudo  saw  no  other  resource  but  to  endure  as  best 
ho  couhl  tlio  unpleasantness  of  his  personal  situation, 
and  live  in  the  iiope  that  in  tho  coursoof  time  some 
change  nn'ght  take  phice  l)y  which  ho  could  bo  brought 
into  ch)ser  connection  with  Mimi. 

Fortunately  for  him,  an  opportunity  of  seeing  Mimi 
occurred  before  he  had  gone  too  deep  down  into  de- 


A    TALE  OF  ACAIHA. 


183 


,»us; 

DOUt 

ion, 
loinc 


gilt 


ilimi 


sponflcncy.  ITe  went  up  oik*  dny  to  tlic  cltJidcl,  alxnit 
a  week  after  lie  had  come  (o  Ijoiiislxmrg.  Mimi  was 
at  tlie  window,  and  as  lie  came  she  saw  him,  and  ran 
to  the  door.     Her  face  was  radiant  with  smiles. 

"  0, 1  am  so  glad,"  she  said, ''  that  yon  hav(?  come  !  [ 
did  sj  want  to  sec  you,  to  ask  yt)n  al)out  something  !  *' 

"  1  never  see  you  alone  now,"  said  Claude,  sadly, 
holding  her  hand  as  thougli  unwilling  to  relin([nish  it. 

'*  No,"  said  Mimi,  with  a  slight  Ihish,  gently  with- 
drawing her  hand,  "  I  am  never  alone,  and  there  are 
so  many  callers  ;  hut  M.  Florian  has  gone  out,  taking 
the  madame,  on  an  affair  of  somi^  imj)ortance  ;  and  so, 
you  see,  we  can  talk  without  interruption." 

"  Especially  if  we  walk  over  into  the  garden,"  said 
Claude. 

Mimi  assented,  and  the  two  walked  into  the  gMrdeii 
that  was  on  (lie  west  side  of  the  residence,  and  for 
some  time  neither  of  them  said  a  word.  The  trees 
had  just  come  into  leaf;  for  the  season  is  late  in  this 
climate,  but  the  delay  is  made;  good  by  the  ra[)id 
growth  K^^  vegetation  after  it  has  once  started  ;  an<l 
now  the  leaves  were  bursting  forth  in  glorious  i-idi- 
ness  and  f)rofusion,  some  more  advanced  than  otiieis, 
and  exhibiting  every  stage  of  development.  Tiio 
lilacs,  above  all,  were  conspicuous  for  beauty;  for 
they  were  covered  with  blossoms,  with  the  peifume 
of  which  the  air  was  loaded. 

"  1  never  see  you  now,"  said  Claude,  at  length. 

"  No,"  said  Mimi,  sadly. 

"It  is  not  as  it  used  to  be,"  said  Claude,  with  a 
mournful  smile,  "  when  1  walked  by  your  side  day 
after  day." 

Mimi  sighed,  and  said  nothing. 


S*t'«2l 


184 


THE  LILY  AND    TIIK  CROSS. 


'M 


11  i£ 


'■il 


\       i 


I  i 


li' 


"It  is  (lifTorent  witli  you,"  said  Claude;  "you  are 
the  centre  of  universal  admiration,  and  everybody 
pays  you  attention.  Tlie  time  never  ])asses  lieavily 
with  you ;  but  tliink  of  me  —  miserable,  obscure, 
friendless  !  " 

Mimi  turned,  and  looked  at  him  with  such  a  piteous 
face  that  Claude  st()i)ped  sliort.  Tier  eyes  were  fixed 
on  his  with  tender  melancholy  and  reproach.  They 
Avere  filled  with  tears. 

"  And  do  you  really  believe  that?  ''  slie  said^ — "tliat 
the  time  never  passes  heavily  with  me?  It  has  been 
a  sad  time  ever  since  1  came  here.  Think  how  short 
a  time  it  is  since  poor,  dear  ])apa  left  me  !  Do  you 
tliink  I  can  have  the  heart  for  much  enjoyment?" 

"  Forgive  me,"  said  Claude,  deeply  moved  ;  "  I  had 
forgotten;  I  did  not  think  what  I  was  saying;  I  was 
too  selfish." 

'•'  That  is  true,"  said  Mimi.  "  While  you  were  suf- 
fering from  loneliness,  you  should  have  thought  that 
I,  too,  was  suflering,  even  in  the  midst  of  the  crowd. 
But  what  are  they  all  to  me  ?  Tliey  are  all  strangers. 
It  is  my  friends  tliat  I  want  to  see ;  and  you  are  away, 
and  the  good  Pere  Micliel  never  comes  I  " 

"Were  you  lonely  on  the  road?"  asked  Claude. 

"  Never,"  said  Mimi,  innocently,  "  after  you  came." 

As  she  said  this,  a  flush  passed  over  her  lovely 
face,  .'md  she  looked  away  confused.  Claude  seized 
her  hand,  a  ad  pressed  it  to  his  lips.  They  then  walked 
on  in  silence  for  some  time.  At  last  Claude  spoke 
again. 

"  Tlie  ship  will  not  leave  for  six  weeks.  If  I  were 
alone,  1  think  1  sliould  go  back  to  Boston.  But  if  you 
go  to  France,  I  sliall  go,  too.  Have  you  ever  thought 
of  what  you  will  do  when  you  get  there  ?  " 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


185 


8uf- 

that 

()\V(1. 

Iircrs. 


jj 


l)VC 


lcizc( 


1 


liked 
ipokc 


were 
fyou 


)U 


gbt 


"  I  suppose  T  shall  liavc  to  go  to  France,"  said  Miini ; 
"  but  why  should  you  think  of  going  to  Boston  ?  Are 
you  not  going  on  your  family  business?" 

''  I  am  not,"  said  Claude.  ''  1  am  only  going  because 
you  are  going.  As  to  my  family  business,  1  have  for- 
gotten all  about  it :  and,  indeed,  I  very  much  doul)t 
whether  I  could  do  anything  at  all.  I  do  not  even 
know  how  I  am  to  begin.  But  I  wish  to  see  you  safe 
and  happy  among  your  friends." 

Mimi  looked  at  him  in  sad  surprise. 

"I  do  not  know  wliotlier  I  have  any  friends  or  not," 
said  she.  ''  I  have  only  one  rebitive,  whom  1  have 
never  seen.  I  had  intended  to  go  to  her.  I  do  not 
know  what  I  shall  do.  If  this  aunt  is  willing  to  take 
me,  I  sliall  live  with  lier ;  but  she  is  not  very  rich,  and 
I  may  be  a  burden." 

"  A  burden  !  "  said  Claude  ;  "  that  is  impossible  ! 
And  besides,  such  a  great  heiress  as  you  will  be  wel- 
come wherever  you  go." 

He  spoke  this  with  a  touch  of  bitterness  in  his 
voice ;  for  Mimi's  supposed  possessions  seemed  to  him 
to  be  the  chief  barrier  between  himself  and  her. 

"  A  great  heiress ! "  said  Mimi,  sadly.  "  I  don't 
know  what  put  that  into  your  head.  Unfortunately, 
as  far  as  I  know,  I  have  nothing.  My  papa  sold  all 
his  estates,  and  had  all  his  money  on  board  the  Are- 
thuse.  It  was  all  lost  in  the  ship,  and  though  I  was 
an  heiress  when  I  left  home,  I  shall  go  back  nothing 
better  than  a  beggar,  to  beg  a  home  from  my  unknown 
aunt.  Or,"  she  continued,  ''  if  my  aunt  shows  no  af- 
fection, it  is  my  intention  to  go  back  to  the  convent 
of  St.  Cecilia,  where  I  was  educated,  and  I  know  they 
will  be  glad  to  have  me ;  and  I  could  not  find  a  better 


; 


'*■  :       '! 


'  ii 


'I' 


;  !    I 


I     ' 


186 


THE   LI  I  A'  AXn    TUh:   CROSS. 


homo  fltr  tlio  rest  of  my  lifo  tliaii  among  those  dear 
sisters  wlio  h)ve  me  so  weU." 

"0,  Mimi,"  he  cried,  "  (),  what  joy  it  is  to  liear  that 
you  are  a  l)eg'gar !  Mimi,  Miiiii !  I  liave  always  felt 
tliat  voii  were  far  al)ove  me  —  too  far  for  me  to  raise 
m}^  thoughts  to  you.  Mimi,  ycai  ai-e  a  l»eggar,  and  not 
an  lieiress  !  You  nnist  not  go  to  France.  1  will  not 
go.  Let  us  remain  together.  1  can  be  more  to  you 
than  any  friend.  Come  with  me.  Be  nn'ne.  0,  let 
me  spend  my  life  in  trying  to  show  you  how  I  love 
you  ! " 

He  spoke  these  words  quickly,  feverishly,  and  pas- 
sionately, seizing  her  hand  in  both  of  his.  lie  had 
never  called  her  before  by  her  name;  but  now  he 
called  her  by  it  over  and  over,  with  loving  intona- 
tions. Mimi  had  hardly  been  })rei)ared  for  this;  l)ut 
though  unprepared,  she  was  not  oifended.  On  the 
contrary,  she  looked  up  at  him  with  a  face  that  told 
him  more  than  words  could  convey.  He  could  not 
help  reading  its  elotpient  meaning.  Her  glance  pene- 
trated to  liis  heart  —  her  soul  spoke  to  his.  He 
caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  little  Mimi  leaned  her 
head  on  his  breast  and  wept. 

But  from  this  dream  of  hope  and  happiness  they 
were  destined  to  have  a  sudden  and  very  rude 
awakening.  There  was  a  sound  in  the  shrubbery 
behind  them,  and  a  voice  said,  in  a  low,  cautious 
tone,  — 

"  H-s-s-t ! " 

At  this  they  both  started,  and  turned.  It  was  the 
Pere  Michel. 

Both  started  as  they  saw  him,  partly  from  surprise, 
and  partly,  also,  from  the  shock  which  they  felt  at  the 


■11 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


187 


(r 


expression  of  liis  face.  11(3  wjis  pale  mid  aj^itattMl,an(l 
tlio  calinnoss  and  seU-coiitrol  wliicli  usually  character- 
ized liiiu  had  departed. 

"My  dear  friend,''  said  (Maude,  hurriedly,  tui'iiiu 
towards  him  and  sei/in.i;'  his  hand,  "  what  is  the  mat- 
ter? Are  you  not  well?  Has  any  tiling*  happened'; 
You  are  ajj^itated.     What  is  the  matter?" 

The  very  worst,"  said  Pero  Michel  —  '^  M.  do  Cazo- 


ii. 


neau 


I " 


>) 


'^  What  of  him?     Wliy,  he  is  dead! 

''Dead?  No;  he  is  alive.  Worse  —  lie  is  hero  — 
here — -in  Louisl)onr}j,*.     1  liave  just  seen  him  !  " 

"  What !  '  cried  Claude,  starting'  hack.  "  M.  de  (^i/e- 
neau  alive,  and  here  in  Louishourg  !  IJow  is  that  pos- 
sible?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  said  tlie  priest.  "  1  only  know  this, 
tliat  [  have  just  seen  him  !  " 

"  Hecn  him  ?  " 


a 


es. 


)> 


"  Where?     You  must  be  mistaken." 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  priest,  luirriedly.  "  1  know  him 
—  only  too  well.  1  saw  him  at  the  Ordnance.  He 
has  just  ariived.  He  was  brought  here  by  Indians 
on  a  litter.  Tlie  connnandant  is  even  now  with  him. 
I  saw  him  go  in.  I  hurried  here,  for  I  knew  that  3'ou 
were  here,  to  tell  you  to  fly.  Fly  then,  at  once,  and  li>r 
your  life.    I  can  get  you  away  now,  if  you  fly  at  once." 

"Fly?"  repeated  Claude,  casting  a  glance  at  ]\Iimi. 

"Yes,  fly!"  cried  the  priest,  in  earnest  tones. 
"Don't  think  of  her,  —  or,  rather,  do  you,  ^limi,  if 
you  value  his  life,  urge  him,  entreat  him,  pray  him  to 
fly.  He  is  lost  if  he  stays.  One  moment  more  may 
destroy  him." 


i 


188 


THE  LILY  AM)    THE  CROSS. 


M 


H'  ^ 

ij' 

■  1' 

i  1  ) 

, 

'||i^ 

\ 

1 

5  ,i-, 

■  )' 

'f  ■ 

H' 

1 

HI 

IL 

u 


■I ,; 


I:    i 


Miiiii  fiiriKMl  as  palo  as  (lentil.  TTcr  li|>s  partcMl.  Sho 
wouM  liavo  s|)(»k('n,  l»ut  cdiild  s;iy  nolliiii;^'. 

*' CoriK^,''  cried  the  nriest,  *' come,  Iiasteii,  (1  y  !  Tt 
may  l)e  (Hily  for  a  lew  weeks  —  a  lew  W(M'ks  only  — 
tliiiik  of  tliat.  'riiei'e  is  more  Jit  stake  tiriii  you  im- 
ai^-iiie.  IJov,  von  know  not  wliat  \'ou  are  riskinji-  — 
not  your  own  life,  l)Ut  the  lives  of  others ;  the  honor 
of  your  family:  the  ho})e  of  the  final  redemption  of 
your  race.     Haste  —  fly,  fly  !  " 

'I'he  ])riest  sj)oke  in  tones  of  feverish  impetuosity. 
At  these  words  Claude  stood  thunder-struck.  It 
eeemed  as  thou,i;h  Ihis  ])riest  knew  somethinjj,-  ahout 
his  familv.    What  did  he  know?    How  could  he  allude 

ft' 

to  the  honor  of  that  I'aniily,  and  the  hope  of  its  redcm[)- 
tion  ? 

"  0,  fly  !  O,  fly  !  Haste  !  "  cried  ^[imi,  who  had  at 
last  found  her  voice.  "■  Don't  think  of  me.  Fly  —  save 
yourself,  before  it's  too  late." 

"  What !  and  leave  you  at  his  mercy?"  said  Claude. 

"0,  don't  think  of  me,"  cried  Mimi;  ''save  your- 


self." 


"  Haste  —  come,"  cried  tlie  priest;  "  it  is  already  too 
late.     You  have  wasted  ])recious  moments." 

"  I  cannot,"  cried  Claude,  as  he  looked  at  Mimi,  who 
stood  in  an  attitude  of  despair. 

"  Then  you  are  lost,"  groaned  the  priest,  m  a  voice 
of  bitterest  grief. 


Sho 


v\     Tt 

lily  — 

)U   ini- 

ni|i;- 

liolinr 

:ion  nf 

\y 

^ 

K* 

'■> 

, 

"" 

nositv. 

y. 

» 

c 

k.      It 

c 

•  iiltollt 

K 
y 

r 

alliido 

►< 

rt 

idcinp- 

r. 

c 

»w« 

H 

liad  at 

C 

r 

—  save 

> 

tr 

K 

'laiido. 

;   your- 

H 

lidy  too 


liii,  wlio 


I  voice 


r. 
a 


pi, 


n; 


'}  \ 


i 


;r 


'1- 

1    ' 

i 

In 

1 

i 

' 

'  t  i 

A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


189 


CHAPTER  XIX. 


THE   CAPTIVE   AND   THE   CAPTORS. 

17URTHER  conversation  was  n(nv  prevented  by  tlio 
A  approach  of  a  company  of  soldiers,  headed  h\  the 
commandant.  Mimi  stood  as  if  rooted  to  the  spot,  and 
then  suddenly  cauglit  Claude  hy  tlie  arm,  as  thougli 
by  her  weak  strength  she  could  save  liim  IVom  the  fate 
which  was  impending  over  him  :  but  the  priest  inter- 
posed, and  gently  drew  her  away. 

The  soldiers  lialted  at  the  entrance  to  the  garden, 
and  the  commandant  came  forward.  His  face  was 
clouded  and  somewhat  stern,  and  every  particle  of  his 
old  friendliness  seemed  to  have  departed. 

''  I  regret,  monsieur,"  said  he,  "  the  unpleasant  ne- 
cessity which  forces  me  to  arrest  you;  but,  had  I 
known  anything  about  your  crime,  you  would  liave 
])een  ])ut  under  arrest  before  you  had  enjoyed  my  hos- 
pitality." 
"  O,  monsieur  !  "  interrupted  Mimi. 
The  commandant  turned,  and  said,  severely,  "  T  trust 
that  the  Countess  de  Laborde  will  see  the  im[)roprietv 
of  her  presence  here,  ^[onsieur  L'Abb(',  will  you  give 
the  countess  your  arm  into  the  house?" 

Pere  Michel,  at  tliis,  led  .Mimi  away.  One  parting 
look  she  threw  upon  Claude,  full  of  utter  despair,  and 
then,  leaning  upon  the  arm  of  the  priest,  walked  slow- 
ly in. 


,M 


lil 


I    I  : 


i:! 


1 1 


m 


190 


TNE  LILY  AND  THE  CROSS. 


Claude  said  not  a  word  in  reply  to  the  address  of  the 
commandant.  He  knew  too  well  that  under  present 
circumstances  words  would  be  utterly  useless.  It* 
Cazeneau  was  indeed  alive,  and  now  in  Louisl)ourf^, 
then  tlicre  could  be  no  hope  for  himself.  If  tlie  former 
cliarges  wliicli  led  to  his  arrest  should  be  insuflicicnt 
to  condemn  liim,  liis  attack  upon  Cazeneau  would  af- 
ford sufficient  cause  to  his  enemy  to  glut  his  ven- 
geance. 

The  soldiers  took  him  in  charge,  and  he  was  marclied 
away  across  the  parade  to  the  prison.  This  was  a 
stone  building,  one  story  in  heiglit,  with  small  grated 
windows,  and  stout  oaken  door  studded  with  iron  nails. 
Inside  there  were  two  rooms,  one  on  each  side  of  the 
entrance.  These  rooms  were  low,  and  tlie  floor,  wliich 
was  laid  on  the  earth,  was  composed  of  boards,  wliicli 
were  decayed  and  moulded  with  damp.  The  ceiling 
was  low,  and  the  light  but  scanty.  A  stout  table  and 
stool  formed  the  o^ly  furniture,  while  a  bundle  of 
mouldy  straw  in  one  corner  was  evidently  intended  to 
be  his  bed.  Into  this  place  Claude  entered ;  the  door 
was  fastened,  and  he  was  left  alone. 

On  finding  himself  alone  in  this  place,  he  sat  upon 
the  stool,  and  for  some  time  his  thoughts  were  scarcely 
of  a  coherent  kind.  It  was  not  easv  for  him  to  under- 
stand  or  realize  his  position,  such  a  short  interval  had 
elapsed  since  he  was  enjoying  the  sweets  of  an  inter- 
view with  Mimi.  The  transition  had  been  sudden  and 
terrible.  It  had  cast  him  down  from  the  highest  hap- 
piness to  the  lowest  misery.  A  few  moments  ago,  and 
all  was  bright  hope  ;  now  all  was  black  despair.  In- 
deed, his  present  situation  had  an  additional  gloom 
from  the  very  happiness  which  he  had  recently  enjoyed, 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


101 


In- 
om 
ed, 


and  in  direct  proportion  to  it.  Had  it  not  boon  for 
that  last  interview,  lie  would  not  have  known  what  he 
had  lost. 

Hope  for  himself  there  was  uone.  Even  under 
ordinary  circumstances,  there  could  iiurdly  have  \k^q\\ 
any  chance  of  his  escape  ;  hut  now,  after  Ca/eneau 
had  so  nearly  lost  his  lilb,  tiiore  could  ho  notliiiiL;"  in 
store  for  him  hut  sure  and  s})eedy  deatli.  He  saw  that 
he  woukl  most  un<loul>todly  ho  tried,  condemned,  and 
executed  hero  in  Louisbourg,  and  that  there  was  not 
the  slightest  hope  that  he  would  be  sent  to  Franco  for 
his  trial. 

Not  long  after  Claude  had  boon  thrust  into  his  i)rison, 
a  party  entered  the  citadel,  l)eariugwith  them  a  litter, 
upon  which  reclined  the  form  of  a  feeble  and  sull'ering 
man.  It  was  Ca/onoau.  The  wound  which  Claude 
had  given  him  had  not  boon  fatal,  after  nil:  and  ho  had 
recovered  sufficiently  to  ondui'o  a  loii<:-  ioui'nev  in  this 
way;  yet  it  had  been  a  severe  one,  and  iiadmado  groat 
ravages  in  him.  He  a{)poarod  many  years  older.  For- 
merly, he  had  not  looked  over  forty  ;  now  he  looked  at 
least  as  old  as  Pero  Michel.  His  face  was  wan  ;  his 
complexion  a  grayish  pallor;  his  frame  was  emaciated 
and  weak.  As  he  was  brought  into  the  citadi'l,  lh(^ 
commandant  came  out  from  his  residence  to  meet  Iiini, 
accompanied  by  some  servants,  and  by  those  the  suf- 
fering man  was  borne  into  the  house. 

"  All  is  ready,  my  dear  count,"  said  the  commandant. 
"  You  will  feel  nuich  better  after  vou  have  some  rest 
of  the  proper  kind." 

'^  But  have  you  arrested  him?"  asked  Cazeneau, 
earnestly. 

"  I  have ;  he  is  safe  now  in  prison." 


^^T^^ 


192 


T//E  LILY  AXD   THE  CROSS. 


h 


u  Very  good.  And  now,  Monsieur  Lo  Commandiint, 
if  you  will  have  the  kindness  to  send  me  to  my 
room  —  " 

"  Monsieur  Lo  Commandant,  you  reign  here  now," 
said  the  other.  '•  Mv  autliority  is  over  since  you  have 
come,  and  you  have  only  to  give  your  orders." 

"  At  any  rate,  mon  cuni,  you  must  remain  in  power 
till  J  get  some  rest  and  sleep,"  said  Cazeneau. 

Rest,  food,  and,  al>ove  all,  a  good  night's  sleep,  liad 
a  very  I'avoi'ahle  eiler't  ui)on  Cazeneau,  and  on  the  fol- 
lowing morning,  Avhen  the  eonnnandant  waited  on  him, 
he  congratulated  him  on  the  im})rovement  in  his  ap- 
pearance. Ca/eneau  acknowledged  tliat  he  irlt  better, 
and  made  very  pointed  inipiiries  about  Minn*,  whidi 
led  to  tlie  recital  of  the  circinnstancesof  Claude's  arrest 
in  ^limi's  presence.  AVhatever  impression  tliis  may 
have  made  u})on  the  hearer,  he  did  not  show  it,  but 
preserved  an  unchanged  demeanor. 

A  conversation  of  a  general  nature  now  followed, 
turning  chiefly  upon  allairs  in  France. 

"  You  had  a  long  voyage,"  remarked  the  com- 
mandant. 

"  Yes  ;  and  an  unpleasant  one.  We  left  in  j\rarch,  but 
it  seems  longer  than  tliat ;  for  it  was  in  February  that 
I  left  Versailles,  only  a  little  while  after  the  death  of  his 
eminence." 

^^  I  fancy  there  will  be  a  great  change  now  in  the 
policy  of  the  govermuent." 

"  0,  of  course.  The  peace  policy  is  over.  AVar 
with  England  must  be.  The  king  professes  now  to  do 
like  his  predecessor,  and  govern  without  a  minister ; 
but  we  all  know  what  that  means.  To  do  without  a 
minister  is  one  thing  for  Louis  Quatorze,  but  another 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


193 


com- 

,  but 

tliat 

.f  his 

II  tlie 

Wiir 
to  do 
ster ; 
out  a 
other 


thing  altogether  for  Louis  Quinzo.  The  Duchesso  de 
Chateauroux  will  he  minister  —  tor  tlie  present.  Then 
we  have  D'Aguesseau,  D'Ai'genson,  and  ^hiure})as. 
0,  there'll  be  war  at  once.  1  dare  say  it  lias  already 
been  declared.  At  any  rate,  it's  best  to  act  on  tliat 
l)riiieiple." 

"  Well,  as  to  that,  monsieur,  we  generally  do  act  on 
that  princii)le  out  here.  But  Fleury  was  a  wondeilul 
old  man." 

"  Yes  ;  but  he  died  too  soon." 

"  Tv;o  soon  !     What,  at  the  age  of  ninety  ?" 

"0,  well,  1  meant  too  soon  lor  me.  Had  he  died  len 
years  ago,  or  had  he  lived  two  years  longer,  1  should 
not  have  come  out  here." 

"  1  did  not  know  that  it  was  a  matter  of  regret  to 
monsieur." 

'' Regret  ?  "  said  Cazeneau,  in  a  querulous  tone  — 
''regret?  Monsieur,  one  docs  not  leave  a  place  like 
Versailles  lor  a  place  like  Louisbourg  without  regrets." 

"  True,"  said  the  other,  who  saw  that  it  was  a  sore 
subject. 

"  With  Fleury  I  had  influence  ;  ])ut  with  the  present 
company  at  Versailles,  it  is  —  well,  different  ;  and  I  am 
better  here.  Out  of  sight,  out  of  mni<l.  It  was  onc^ 
of  Fleury's  last  acts  —  this  aj)j)oiutment.  1  solicited 
it,  for  certain  reasons;  chiefly  because  1  saw  that  he 
could  not  last  long.  Well,  they'll  have  enough  to  think 
of  without  calling  me  to  mind  :  for,  if  I'm  not  mistaken, 
the  Queen  of  Hungary  will  lind  occu[)ation  enough  for 
them." 

After  some  further  conversation  of  this  kind,  Caze- 
neau returned  to  the  sul»ject  of  Minn",  asking  parti(;u- 
larly  about  her  life  in  Louisbourg,  and  whether  Claude 
13 


:i-  •  < 


Mi 


Mi 


*    rti 

■„     1  ■ 

t  ■ 


ft 


■- 


194 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


Iiad  seen  licr  often.     The   infcirnmtion  wliicli  ho   re- 
ceived on  W\\A  point  seemed  to  give  him  satistaction. 

"  Does  tins  vounir  man  claim  to  l»o  a  Montresor?'' 
asked  the  commandant,  "or  is  ]i(3  merely  interesting 
himself  in  the  ailairs  of  that  family  by  way  of  an  in- 
trigiie  ?  " 

"  It  is  an  intrigue,"  said  Cazenean.  ''  ITe  dt)es  not 
call  himself  Montresor  openly,  but  T  have  reason  to 
know  that  he  is  intending  to  pass  himself  oif  as  the 
son  and  heir  of  the  Count  Eugene,  who  was  outhiwed 
nearly  twenty  years  ago.  Perhaps  you  have  heard  of 
that.'' 

"  0,  yes  ;  I  remember  all  about  that.  ITis  wife  was  a 
Huguenot,  and  botli  of  them  got  olf.  His  estates  were 
confiscated.  It  was  private  emnity,  I  believe.  Some 
one  got  a  rich  liaul.     I  Fa,  ha,  ha  !  " 

At  this  Cazeneau's  face  turned  as  black  as  a  thunder- 
cloud. The  connnandant  saw  that  liis  remark  had 
been  an  unfortunate  one,  and  hastened  to  chaiige  the 
conversation. 

*^  So  this  young  fellow  has  a  i)lan  of  that  sort,  you 
think.  Of  course  he's  put  up  by  others — some  wire- 
pullers behind  the  scenes.  Well,  he's  sale  enougli 
now,  and  he  has  that  hanging  over  liim  which  will  put 
an  end  to  this  scheme,  whoever  may  have  started  it." 

At  this  Cazeneau  recovered  his  former  cahmiess,  and 
smiled  somewhat  grimly. 

"  I  can  guess  pretty  well,"  said  Cazeneau,  '^  how 
this  plot  may  have  originated.  You  must  know  that 
when  the  Count  do  Montresor  and  his  countess  fled, 
they  took  with  them  a  servant  who  had  been  their 
ste^vard.  This  man's  name  was  Metier.  Now,  both 
the  count  and  countess  died  shortly  after  their  arrival 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


195 


V  '- 


ire- 

DUt 

11 
iiul 

ow 

iclt 

ed, 
eir 
i)t}i 


in  America.  The  countess  died  first,  somewhere  in 
Canada,  and  tlien  the  count  seemed  to  h^ae  his  reas(m ; 
for  he  went  off  into  the  wihlerness,  and  has  never  been 
heard  of  since.  He  must  liave  perished  at  once.  His 
steward,  Motier,  was  tiien  left.  This  man  was  a  Hu- 
guenot and  an  incoi-i'igihle  rascal.  He  found  Canada 
too  hot  to  liold  him  with  his  inlidcl  Ihii^'icnot  faith, 
and  so  ho  went  among  the  English,  i  dare  say  that 
this  Motier,  ever  since,  has  hecn  concocting  a  i)lan 
by  which  he  might  make  his  lortune  out  of  the  Mon- 
tresor  estates.  This  Claude  Motier  is  his  son,  and 
has,  no  doubt,  been  brought  up  by  old  Motier  to  be- 
lieve that  he  is  the  son  of  the  count ;  or  else  the  young 
villain  is  his  partner.  You  see  his  game  now  —  don't 
you?  He  hired  a  schooner  to  take  him  here.  He 
would  have  began  his  work  here  by  getting  some  of 
you  on  his  side,  and  gaining  some  influence,  or  money, 
perhaps,  to  begin  with.  V^crywell;  what  then?  Why, 
then  off  he  goes  to  France,  where  he  prol)ably  in- 
tended to  take  advantage  of  the  change  in  the  minis- 
try to  push  his  claims,  in  the  hope  of  making  something 
out  of  them.  And  there  is  no  doubt  that,  with  his  im- 
pudence, the  young  villain  might  have  done  something. 
And  that  reminds  me  to  ask  you  whether  you  found 
anything  at  his  lodgings." 

"  No,  nothing." 

"  He  should  be  searched.  He  must  have  some  pa- 
pers." 

"  He  shall  be  searched  to-night." 

^^  I  should  have  done  that  before.  I  left  w^ord  to 
have  that  done  before  sending  him  from  Grand  V\^  ; 
but,  as  the  fellow  got  off",  why,  ol'  course  that  was  no 
use.     And  I  only  hope  he  hasn't  thought  of  destroying 


r 


lOG 


THE   !.ILV  AXn    THE   CROSS. 


% 


I 


If 


'•\\ 


l:il 


■iff 


II' 


tlic  papers.  V>w\  if  lie  lias  any,  lio  wrm't  want  to  do- 
Btroy  them  till  the  list  inoiiieiit.  Perhaps  he  won't 
oven  think  of  it." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  this  Motier  has  lived  among 
the  Knolish  all  iiislii'e?" 

'*'  1  believe  so." 

"  Impossible  !" 

"  Wliy  so?" 

"  Ilis  manner,  his  accent,  and  his  look  are  all  as 
French  as  they  can  possibly  be." 

"  IIow  he  has  dune  it  1  am  unable  to  conjecture. 
This  Motier,  p're,  nmst  have  been  a  man  of  superior 
culture,  to  have  brought  up  such  a  very  gentlemanly 
young  fellow  as  tliis." 

"  Well,  there  is  a  dillieulty  about  that.  ^My  opinion 
of  the  New  Englanders  is  such  that  I  do  not  thii.k  they 
would  allow  a  man  to  live  among  them  who  looked  so 
like  a  Frenchman." 

''  Bah  !  his  looks  are  notliing;  and  they  d(m't  know 
v/liat  his  French  accent  may  be." 

"  Do  you  think,  after  all,  that  his  own  story  is  true 
about  living  in  New  England  ?  May  he  not  be  some 
adventurer,  who  has  drifted  awav  from  France  of  late 
vcars,  and  has  come  in  contact  with  ]Motier  ?  Or,  better 
yet,  may  he  not  have  Ijeen  prepared  for  his  part,  and 
sent  out  by  some  parties  in  France,  wdio  are  familiar 
with  the  whole  Montresor  business,  and  are  playing  a 
deep  game  ?  " 

Cazeneau,  at  tliis,  sat  for  a  time  in  deep  thought. 

"  Your  suggestion,"  said  he,  at  length,  "  is  certainly 
a  good  one,  and  worth  consideration.  Yet  I  don't  see 
how  it  can  be  so.  No  —  for  this  reason :  the  captain 
of  the  schooner  was  certainly  a  New  Ei^glander,  and 


A    TALE   OF  ACAP/.L 


107 


he  spoke  in  my  lieariii--,  on  sov(M'mI  occasions,  as  tlion^Hi 
this  Ah)tier  wjis,  like  hinisolt;  a  native  of  New  V.n^. 
land,  and  as  one,  too,  whom  lie  had  known  for  y(>iirs. 
Once  he  spoke  as  thong'h  lie  liad  known  him  Iron^i  hoy- 
hood.  I  know  cnoug-h  En<rlish  to  nn(h'rstand  that. 
Besides,  this  fellow's  Kn-lisl,  is  as  perfect  as  his 
French.  No,  it  cannot  he  ])ossihlo  that  ho  has  heen 
sent  out  by  any  parties  in  France.  He  nnist  have 
lived  in  New  England  neaily  all  his  life,  even  if  he 
was  not  born  there  ;  and  1  camiot  agree  with  you." 

"  0,  I  only  made  the  suggestion.  It  was  merely  a 
passing  thought." 

"  Be  assured  this  steward  Metier  has  l)rought  him 
up  with  an  eye  to  using  him  for  the  very  purpose  on 
which  he  is  now  going." 

"  Do  you  suppose  that  Motier  is  alive  ?  " 

"  Of  course." 

"  He  may  be  dead." 

"  And  what  then  ?  " 

"  In  that  case  this  young  fellow  is  not  an  agent  of 
anybody,  but  is  acting  for  himself." 

"Even  if  that  were  so,  I  do  not  sec  what  difrerencc 
it  would  make.  He  has  been  educated  for  the  part 
which  he  is  now  playing." 

"  Do  you   think,"    asked  the   commandant,  after  a 
pause,  "  that  the  Count  de  Montresor  had  a  son  ?  " 
"  Certainly  not." 

"  He  may  have  had,  and  this  young  fellow  may  be 
the  one." 

"  That's  what  he  says,"  said  Cazeneau  ;  ''  but  he  can 
never  prove  it;  and,  besides,  it  was  impossible,  for  the 
count  would  never  have  left  him  as  he  did." 


I: 


f    1 1  i 


«  i  ; 

■!'i 

H<if 


I! 


'\h 


.1; 


(I  J 


IM 


f 


i 


)|' 


■I  ill- 


■'i 


198 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CJWSS, 


CHAPTER  XX. 


EXAMINATIONS. 


CAZENEAU  improved  in  liealtli  and  ptrength  every 
day.  A  week  passed,  during  wliicli  period  lie  de- 
voted all  his  attention  to  himself',  keeping  quietly  to 
his  room,  with  the  exception  of  an  occasional  walk  in 
the  sun,  when  the  weather  was  warm,  and  letting 
Nature  do  all  she  could.  The  wound  had  been 
severe,  though  not  mortal,  and  hardly  what  could 
be  called  even  dangerous.  The  worst  was  already 
past  on  the  journey  to  Louisbourg ;  and  when  once  he 
had  arrived  there,  he  had  but  to  wait  for  his  strength 
to  rally  from  the  shock. 

While  thus  waiting,  he  saw  no  one  outside  of  the 
family  of  the  commandant.  Mimi  was  not  interfered 
with.  Claude  received  no  communications  from  him 
for  good  or  evil.  Pere  ]\[ichel,  avIio  expected  to  be 
put  through  a  course  of  questioning,  remained  unques- 
tioned ;  nor  did  he  assume  the  office  of  commandant, 
which  now  was  his. 

At  the  end  of  a  week  he  found  himself  so  much 
better  that  he  began  to  think  liimself  able  to  carry 
out  the  various  purposes  which  lay  in  his  mind.  First 
of  all,  he  relieved  the  late  commandant  of  his  office, 
and  took  that  dignity  upon  himself 

All  this  time  Mimi  had  been  under  the  same  roof, 


M 


A    TALE  OF  AC  AD/ A. 


109 


liim 

to  be 

[ues- 

|dant, 

iiucli 
;arry 
First 
Iffice, 

roof. 


a  prey  to  the  deepest  anxiety.  Tlio  poignant  grief 
which  she  had  felt  for  tlie  loss  of  lier  father  had  been 
alleviated  for  a  time  l)y  the  escape  of  Claude  ;  but  now, 
since  his  arrest,  and  the  arrival  of  the  dreaded  Caze- 
neau,  it  seemed  worse  than  ever;  tlie  old  grief  re- 
turned, and,  in  addition,  tlierc  were  new  ones  of  e(iiial 
force.  Tliere  was  the  terror  about  her  own  future, 
which  looked  dark  indeed  l)efore  her,  from  the  i)ur- 
poses  of  Cazeneau  ;  and  then  there  was  also  the  deep 
anxiety,  which  never  hsf;  her,  about  the  fate  of  Claude. 
Of  him  she  knew  nothing,  having  lieard  not  one  word 
since  his  arrest.  She  had  not  seen  Fere  Micliel,  and 
there  was  no  one  wliom  she  could  ask.  The  lady  of 
the  commandant  was  kind  enough ;  but  to  Mimi  she 
seemed  a  mere  creature  of  Cazeneau,  and  Ibr  this 
reason  she  never  dreamed  of  taking  her  into  her  confi- 
dence, though  tliat  good  lady  made  several  unmistaka- 
ble attempts  to  enter  into  her  secret. 

Such  was  her  state  of  mind  when  she  received  a 
message  that  M.  Le  Comte  do  Cazeneau  wished  to  pay 
his  respects  to  her. 

Mimi  knew  only  too  well  wliat  that  meant,  and  would 
have  avoided  the  interview  under  any  plea  whatever, 
if  it  had  been  possible.  But  that  could  not  be  done  ; 
and  so,  with  a  heart  that  throbbed  with  painful  emo- 
tions, she  went  to  meet  him. 

After  waiting  a  little  time,  Cazeneau  made  his  ap- 
pearance, and  greeted  her  with  very  much  warmth 
and  earnestness.  He  endeavored  to  infuse  into  his* 
manner  as  much  as  possil)le  of  the  cordiality  of  an  old 
and  tried  friend,  together  \"it]i  the  tenderness  which 
might  be  shown  by  a  father  or  an  elder  brother.  He 
was  careful  not  to  exhibit  the  slightest  trace  of  annoy- 


i 


I' 


17 :  I 


: ;  n 


I » 


|l  ; 


200 


77/ A'   LI  J  A'  AM)    THE   CROSS, 


aiico  ut  iiiiytliiii;^-  tli;it  lia<l  luijiptMKMl  since  lie  last  saw 
her,  nor  to  sliow  uii}'  sus[>ieioii  that  she  could  he  in  any 
way  iui|tlicate(l  with  liis  enemy. 

But  Minii  did  not  meet  liim  hall'  wav.  She  was 
cold  and  repellent;  or,  rathci',  pei'liaps  it  may  witli 
more  truth  be  said,  she  was  i'rightened  and  emljar- 
rassed. 

In  spite  of  Cazcneau's  determination  to  toucli  on 
iiotliin^-  unpleasant,  he  could  not  hel[)  noticing  Mimi's 
reserve,  and  remarking  on  it. 

'■''  You  do  not  congratulate  me,"  said  he.  "  Perhaps 
you  have  not  heard  the  reason  why  1  left  your  party 
in  the  woods.  It  was  not  because  J  grew  tii'e(l  of 
}'our  company.  It  was  because  1  was  attacked  by  an 
assassin,  and  narrowly  escaped  with  my  life.  It  has 
only  been  by  a  miracle  that  I  liave  come  here;  and, 
though  I  still  have  sometliing  of  my  strengtii,  yet  I  am 
very  far  from  being  the  man  tliat  1  was  wiieii  you  saw 
me  last." 

At  these  words  jMimi  took  another  look  at  Caze- 
neau,  and  surveyed  him  somewliat  more  ch)sely.  She 
felt  a  slight  shock  at  noticing  now  the  cliange  which 
had  taken  place  in  him.  lie  looked  so  haggard,  and 
so  old  ! 

She  murmured  a  few  words,  which  Cazeneau  ac- 
cepted as  expressions  of  good  will,  and  thanked  her 
accordiniilv.  Tlie  conversation  did  not  last  much 
longer.  Cazeneau  himself  found  it  rather  too  tedious 
Aviiere  he  had  to  do  all  the  talking,  and  Avhere  the 
other  was  only  a  girl  too  sad  or  too  sullen  to  answer. 
One  final  remark  was  made,  which  seemed  to  Mimi  to 
express  the  whole  purpose  of  liis  visit. 

"  You  need  not  fear,  mademoiselle,"  said  he,  "  that 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


201 


this  asRassin  will  ('S(*;»|k>.  Tlud  is  inijMissiMc,  siii.'c  lio 
is  uikUt  strict  coiiliiiuiucnt,  aiid  in  u  few  davs  iiiust  l>u 
tried  for  his  criinos." 

What  tliat  meant  Mimi  kii(>\v  only  too  well;  and  iil'tcr 
Cazeneaii  left,  tlicso  woiwls  raii^'  in  licr  lirart. 

After  his  call  on  Minii,  Ca/cneau  was  waitcfl  on  hv 
the  ex-connnandant.  who  ac(|uainte(l  In'ni  with  the  re- 
sult of  certain  inipiii-ics  which  lie  had  ix'cn  ir.akinj^. 
These  inquiries  had  hci'U  made  hy  means  of  a  prisoner, 
who  had  been  put  in  with  Claude  in  older  to  win  the 
young  man's  confidence,  and  tims  get  at  his  secret; 
for  Cazeneau  had  heen  t»f  the  opinion  that  there  were 
accomplices  or  allies  of  Claude  in  France,  of  whom  it 
would  be  well  to  know  the  names.  Tiie  ex-command- 
ant was  still  more  eager  to  know.  lie  had  heen  very 
much  struck  hy  the  claim  of  Claude  to  he  a  De  Mon- 
trcsor,  and  by  Cazeneau's  own  confession  that  the 
present  rcijltne  was  unfavorable  to  him;  and  under 
these  circumstances  tlu^  worthy  I'unelionai-v,  wlio 
always  looked  out  for  numl»er  one,  was  busy  weighing 
the  advantages  of  the  party  of  Chiude  as  against  the 
party  of  Cazeneau. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  he  liad  called  on 
IMimi,  Cazeneau  was  waited  on  by  Pere  jNlicliel.  Ho 
himself  had  sent  for  the  })riest,  Aviiom  he  had  sum- 
moned somewhat  al)ruptly.  The  j)i'iest  entered  the 
apartment,  and,  with  a  bow,  announced  liimself.  As 
Cazeneau  looked  up,  he  a}>])eared  for  a  moment  stiMick 
with  involuntary  respect  by  tlie  venerable  appearance 
of  this  man,  or  tliere  may  have  been  ^ometliing  else  at 
work  in  liim;  but,  whatever  the  cause,  he  regarded 
the  priest  attentively  for  a  few  moments,  without  say- 
ing a  word. 


(■ 


B^^ 


h'  !i 


202 


THE  LILY  AND  IIIR  CROSS. 


M 


i  !  ,        ( 


^'  Pt-rc  Micliel,"  siiirl  ho,  at  loim'tli,  "  I  have  called 
vou  before  me  in  Drivato.  to  coinc  to  an  nndorstandinc; 
witli  yon.  Had  I  rollowcd  my  own  ini})nl<('s,  I  would 
liave  ordered  yonr  arrest,  on  my  entrance  into  Lonis- 
bonrg,  as  an  accomplice  of  that  younj^  villain.  I 
thought  it  sniTiciciit,  liowcver,  to  spare  yon  ior  the 
present,  and  keep  yon  nnder  snrveillance.  I  am,  on 
the  whole,  glad  tliat  I  did  not  yield  to  my  first  im- 
pulse of  anger,  for  I  can  now,  in  perfect  calmness,  go 
with  you  over  your  acts  during  the  journey  here,  and 
ask  you  for  an  explanation.*' 

The  priest  bowed. 

" Understand  me,  Pcre  Michel,"  said  Cazeneau;  "I 
have  now  no  hnrd  feelins"  left.  I  mav  sav,  I  have 
almost  no  suspicion.  I  wisli  to  lie  assured  of  your  in- 
nocence. I  will  take  anything  that  seems  like  a  phiu- 
sible  excuse.  I  respect  your  character,  and  would 
rather  have  you  as  mv  iVicnd  than  —  than  not." 

The  priest  again  bowed,  without  appearing  at  all  af- 
fected by  these  C(  nciliatory  ^vords. 

"  After  I  was  assassinated  in  the  woods,"  said  Caze- 
neau, "  I  was  saved  from  deatli  by  the  skill  and  fidelity 
of  my  Indians.  It  seems  to  me  still,  Pcre  ^[icliel,  as  it 
seemed  then,  that  something  might  have  been  done  by 
you.  Had  you  been  in  league  with  my  enemy,  you 
could  not  have  done  worse.  Yon  hastened  forward 
with  all  speed,  leaving  me  to  my  fate.  As  a  friend, 
you  should  have  turned  back  ^o  save  a  friend  ;  as  a 
priest,  you  should  have  turned  back  to  give  me  Chris- 
tian burial.     What  answer  have  }ou  to  make  to  this  ?  " 

"  Simply  this,"  said  the  priest,  with  perfect  calm- 
ness :  ''  that  when  you  left  us  you  gave  orders  that  we 
should  go  on,  and  that  you  would  find  your  way  to  us. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


203 


I  had  no  tlionglit  of  tiiniiiig  back,  or  waitiii^Li;.  T  knew 
the  Indians  well,  and  knew  that  lliev  ran  find  their 
way  through  the  woods  as  easily  as  you  can  througli 
the  streets  of  Paris.  I  went  forward,  then,  without 
any  tliought  of  waiting  for  you,  tliinking  tliat  of  course 
you  would  join  us,  as  you  said.'' 

"  Wlien  did  Metier  come  up  with  you?"  asked  Caze- 
neau. 

"  On  tlie  following  day,"  answered  the  i)riest. 

"  Did  lu  inform  you  what  had  taken  place  ?  " 

"  He  did." 

"Why,  then,  did  you  not  turn  back  to  help  me?" 

"  Because  Metier  infonaed  me  that  you  wei-e  dead." 

"Very  good.  He  believed  so,  [  doul»t  not;  hut,  at 
any  rate,  you  might  have  turned  back,  if  only  to  give 
Christian  burial." 

"  I  intended  to  do  that  at  some  future  time,"  said 
Pere  Michel;  "but  at  that  time  T  felt  my  chief  duty 
to  be  to  the  living.  IIow  could  1  have  left  the  Count- 
ess Laborde  ?  jNIotier  would  not  have  l)een  a  proper 
guardian  to  convey  her  to  Louisbourg,  and  to  take  her 
back  with  me  was  impossible.  1  therefore  decided  to 
go  on,  as  you  said,  and  take  her  first  to  Louisbourg, 
and  afterwards  to  return." 

"  You  showed  no  haste  about  It,"  said  Cazeneau. 

"  I  had  to  wait  here,"  stiid  the  priest. 

"  May  I  ask  what  could  have  been  tlie  urgent  busi- 
ness whicli  kept  you  from  the  sacred  duty  of  the  burial 
of  the  dead?"' 

"A  ship  is  expected  every  day,  and  T  waited  to  get 
the  letters  of  my  superiors,  with  reference  to  further 
movements  on  my  nn'ssion." 

"  You  say  that  Motier  informed  you  about  my  death. 
Did  he  tell  you  how  it  had  happened  ?  " 


i 


fl 


<^ 


l''-  I 


■     I'm 

!i 

!    i 

■  I    ' 

i- 

'  1^ 

m 

1 

m 

JHUi 

fc  '    1 

204 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


"  He  said  that  you  and  lie  had  fought,  and  that  you 
had  been  killed." 

"  Why,  then,  did  you  not  denounce  him  to  the  au- 
thorities on  your  ari'ival  liere  ?  " 

"  On  wliat  charge  ?  " 

"On  tlie  charge  ol' murder." 

"  I  did  not  know  that  when  one  gentleman  is  un- 
fortunate en(mgli  to  kill  anotliei-,  in  fair  iiglit,  that  it 
can  be  considered  murder.  The  duel  is  as  lawl'ul  in 
Amej'ica  as  in  France.'* 

"  This  was  not  a  duel!"  cried  Cazeneau.  "  It  was 
an  act  of  assassination,  ^fotier  is  no  better. than  a 
murderer." 

'■'■  I  only  knew  his  own  account,"  said  tlie  priest. 

"Besides,"  contin.aed  Cazeneau,  "  a  duel  can  only 
take  place  betwecMi  two  equals;  and  this  Motier  is  one 
of  the  canaiUe^  one  not  worthy  of  my  sword." 

"  Yet,  monsieur,"  said  the  priest,  "  when  you  ar- 
rested him  first,  it  was  not  as  one  of  the  canalUe,  but 
as  the  son  of  the  outlawed  Count  de  Alontresor." 

"  True,"  said  Cazeneau  ;  •' but  I  have  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  he  is  merely  some  impostor.  lie  is  now 
under  a  diiTerent  accusation.  But  one  more  point. 
How  did  jMotier  manage  to  escape?" 

"  As  to  that,  monsieur,  I  always  supposed  that  his 
escape  was  easy  enough,  and  that  he  could  have  ef- 
fected it  at  once.  The  form-houses  of  the  Acadians 
are  not  adapted  to  be  very  secure  prisons.  There 
were  no  bolts  and  bars,  and  no  adequate  watch." 

"True;  but  the  most  significant  part  of  his  escape 
is,  that  he  had  external  assistance.  Who  were  those 
Indians  who  led  him  on  my  trail?  How  did  he,  a 
stranger,  win  them  over?" 


ii 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


205 


icr  IS  one 


"  You  for<:^et,  monsieur,  tliat  tliis  j'oung  man  has 
lived  all  his  life  in  America.  1  know  that  he  has 
been  much  in  the  woods  in  New  England,  and  has 
had  mucli  intercourse  with  the  Indians  there.  It  was, 
no  doubt,  very  easy  for  liini  to  enter  into  connnunica- 
tion  witli  Indians  liere.     They  are  all  alike." 

"But  how  could  he  liave  found  them?  He  must 
have  had  them  at  the  house,  or  else  friends  outside 
must  iiave  sent  them." 

"  He  might  have  bribed  the  people  of  the  house." 

"  Impossible  ! " 

"  Monsieur  does  not  mean  to  say  that  anytliing  is 
impossil)le  to  one  who  has  gold.  ]Men  of  this  age  do 
anything  for  gold." 

Cazeneau  was  silent.  To  him  this  was  so  profound- 
ly true  tliat  he  had  nothing  to  say.  He  sat  in  silence 
for  a  little  while,  and  then  contiimed  :  — 

"  1  understand  that  at  tlie  time  of  tlie  arrest  of  ^lo- 
tier,  he  was  in  tlie  garden  of  the  residence,  with  the 
Countess  de  Laborde,  and  tliat  you  were  witli  them. 
How  is  this?  Did  this  interview  take  place  with  your 
sancticui  or  connivance  ?  " 

"  I  knew  not! ling  about  it.  It  was  by  the  merest 
accident,  as  far  as  I  know." 

"  You  did  no    help  them  in  this  way?" 

"  I  did  not." 

"  Monsieur  L'Abbe,"  said  Cazeneau,  "  T  am  glad 
that  you  have  answered  my  questions  s(^  Cully  and 
so  frankly.  I  confess  that,  in  my  first  anger,  I  con- 
sidered that  in  some  way  you  had  taken  part  against 
me.  To  think  so  gave  me  great  pain,  as  T  liave  had 
too  high  an  esteem  for  you  to  be  willing  to  think  of 
you  as  an  enemy.     But  your  explanations  are  in  every 


206 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


:, 


! 


way  satisfactory.  T  hope,  monsieur,  that  whatever 
letters  you  receive  from  France,  they  will  not  tnke 
you  away  from  tliis  part  of  the  world.  I  feel  confi- 
dent that  you,  with  your  influence  over  tlie  Indians 
here,  will  be  an  invalual)Ic  ally  to  one  in  my  position, 
in  the  endeavors  which  I  sliall  make  to  further  in  these 
parts  the  interests  of  France  and  of  the  church." 


i  N 


lit 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


207 


CIUrTER  XXI. 


A   RAY   OF   LIGHT. 


AFTER  leaving  Cazeneaii,  Pere  Michel  went  to  tlie 
prison  where  Claude  was  confined.  The  younfjj 
man  looked  pale  and  dejected,  tor  tlie  confinement  liad 
told  upon  his  health  and  spirits;  and  worse  than  the 
confinement  was  the  utter  despair  whicli  had  settled 
down  upon  his  soul.  At  the  si^lit  of  the  priest,  he 
gave  a  cry  of  joy,  and  hurried  forward. 

"  I  thought  you  had  forgotten  all  about  me,"  said 
Claude,  as  he  embraced  the  good  priest,  while  tears 
of  joy  started  to  his  eyes. 

"  I  have  never  forgotten  you,  my  son,"  said  tlie 
priest,  as  he  returned  liis  embrace ;  *'  that  is  impossi- 
ble. I  have  thouglit  of  you  both  niglit  and  day,  and 
have  been  trying  to  do  something  for  you." 

"  For  me,"  said  Claude,  gloomily, "  nothing  can  be 
done.  But  tell  me  about  her.  How  does  she  bear 
this  ?  " 

"  Badly,"  said  the  priest,  "  as  you  may  suppose." 

Claude  sighed. 

"  My  son,"  said  tlie  priest,  ^^  I  have  come  to  you  now 
on  important  business  ;  and,  first  of  all,  I  wish  to 
speak  to  you  about  a  subject  tliat  you  will  consider 
most  important.  I  mean  that  secret  which  you  wish  to 
discover,  and  which  drew  you  away  from  your  home." 


Mi 


' 

l!':!i 


208 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


\\'\ 


i;  ' 


I  i 


''  Do  yon  know  aiiytliing  a])()iit  it?" 

"  Much.  Remember  I  was  witli  Labordo  in  liis  last 
liours,  and  received  liis  confession.  I  am,  therefore, 
able  to  tell  you  all  tliat  you  wisli  to  know;  and  after 
that  you  must  decide  for  yourself  another  question, 
Avliicli  will  grow  out  of  this. 

"  About  twenty  years  ago  there  was  a  beautiful 
heiress,  who  was  presented  at  court.  ITer  name  was 
the  Countess  de  Besangon.  She  was  a  Huguenot,  and 
therefore  not  one  whom  you  would  expect  to  see 
amid  the  vicious  circles  at  Versailles.  But  her  guar- 
dians were  Catliolic,  and  lioped  tliat  tlio  attractions  of 
the  court  miglit  weaken  her  faith.  Slie  became  tlie 
admired  of  all,  and  great  was  the  rivalry  for  lier  favor. 
Two,  in  particular,  devoted  themselves  to  her  —  the 
Count  de  Montresor  and  the  Count  de  Lal^orde.  She 
preferred  the  former,  and  they  were  married.  After 
this,  the  count  and  countess  left  the  court,  and  retired 
to  the  Chateau  de  Montresor. 

"  Laborde  and  Montresor  had  always  been  firm 
friends  until  this ;  but  now  Laborde,  stung  by  jeal- 
ousy and  hate,  sought  to  effect  the  ruin  of  Montresor. 
At  first  his  feeling  was  only  one  of  jealousy,  wliich  was 
not  unnatural,  under  the  circumstances.  Lel't  to  liim- 
self,  I  doubt  not  tliat  it  would  have  died  a  natural 
death ;  but,  unfortunately,  Laborde  was  under  the  in- 
fluence of  a  crafty  adventurei',  wlio  now,  when  Mon- 
tresor's  friendship  was  removed,  gained  an  ascendency 
over  him.  This  man  was  this  Cazeneau,  who  has 
treated  you  so  shamefully. 

"  I  will  not  enlarge  upon  his  character.  You  your- 
self know  now  well  enough  what  that  is.  Tie  was  a 
man  of  low  origin,  who  had  grown  up  amid  the  vilest 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


209 


his  last 
crefore, 
id  after 
ucstion, 

»eautif'ul 
imc  was 
nut,  and 
to   sec 
3r  guar- 
'tions  of 
anie  the 
er  favor, 
or  —  the 
le.     She 
[.     After 
\  retired 

pen  firm 
by  jeal- 
ontresor. 
liicli  was 
to  liiin- 
natural 
the  in- 
en  Mon- 
endency 
who    has 

on  your- 
le  was  a 
;he  vilest 


court  on  the  surface  of  tlio  eartli.  At  tliat  time  tlie 
Duke  of  Orleans  iind  the  Abl) '  Dubois  liad  control 
of  everything,  and  the  Avbole  coui"t  was  an  infanK)Us 
scene  of  corruption.  Cazeneau  soon  Ibund  means  to 
turn  tlie  jealousy  of  La])orde  into  a  deeper  hate,  and 
to  gain  his  co-operation  in  a  scheme  which  he  had 
formed  for  his  own  profit. 

"  Cazeneau's  plan  was  iliis  :  Tlie  laws  against  the 
Huguenots  were  very  stringent,  and  were  in  ibrce,  as, 
indeed,  tliey  are  yet.  The  Countess  do  ^lontresor  was 
a  Huguenot,  and  nothing  could  make  her  swei've  from 
her  faith.  The  first  blow  was  levelled  at  her,  ibr  in 
this  way  they  knew  that  tliey  could  inflict  a  dec[)er 
wound  up(Mi  her  husl)and.  She  was  to  l)e  arrested, 
subjected  to  the  mockery  of  French  justice,  and  con- 
demned to  tlie  terrible  punishment  which  the  laws 
inflicted  upon  heretics.  Had  Montresor  remained  at 
court,  he  could  easily  have  fought  olf  this  pair  of  con- 
spirators; but,  l)eing  away,  lie  knew  nothing  abimt  it 
till  all  was  ready;  and  tlien  he  had  nothing  to  do  but 
to  fly,  in  order  to  save  his  wife. 

"  Upon  this,  fresh  cliarges  were  made  against  him, 
and  lettres  de  cachet  were  issued.  'l'hes(^  would  have 
flung  him  into  the  Bastile,  to  rot  and  die  forgotten.  But 
^lontresor  had  effectually  concealed  himself,  together 
with  his  wife ,  and  the  emissaries  of  the  government 
were  baflled.  It  was  by  that  time  too  late  for  him  to 
defend  himself  in  any  way  :  and  the  end  of  it  was,  that 
he  decided  to  fly  from  France.  Tie  did  so,  and  suc- 
ceeded in  reaching  Quebec  in  safety.  Here  he  hoped 
to  remain  t)nly  ibr  a  time,  and  expected  that  before 
long  a  change  in  the  ministry  miglit  take  place,  by 
means  of  which  he  might  regain  his  rights. 

U 


I 


210 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


i.i 


!i 


f       I 


! 


v; 


"But  Flenry  was  {ill-poworful  willi  tlio  king,  and 
Cazeneau  managed  sonioliow  to  get  into  Fleury's  good 
graces,  so  tliat  Monli-esoi-  liad  no  chance.  The  Mon- 
tresor  estates,  and  all  the  i)()sscssions  of  his  Avife,  were 
confiscated,  and  Lalxtrde  and  (^i/eneaii  secnred  nnich 
of  them.  Bnt  Moiiti-esor  had  other  things  to  trouble 
liim.  Ilis  wii'e  grew  ill,  and  died  n(jt  long  after  his 
arrival,  leaving  an  infant  son.  Montresor  now  had 
nothing  wliieh  seemed  to  him  worlli  living  lor.  Ho 
therefore  left  his  cliild  to  the  ca;e  of  the  i'aitliful  Mo- 
tier,  and  disappeared,  as  yon  have  told  me,  and  has 
never  been  heard  of  since. 

"  Of  course  Laborde  knew  nothing  of  this,  and  I 
only  add  tliis  to  the  information  wliieli  he  gave,  in 
order  to  make  it  as  phiin  to  you  as  it  is  to  me.  La- 
borde asserted  that  after  the  first  blow  lie  recoiled, 
conscience-stricken,  and  refused  further  to  pursue  your 
father,  though  Cazeneau  was  intent  upon  Ids  com[)leto 
destruction;  and  perliaps  tin's  is  the  reason  wiiy  ]\ron- 
tresor  was  not  molested  at  Quebec.  A  better  reason, 
however,  is  to  be  found  in  the  merciful  nature  of 
Floury,  whom  I  believe  at  bottom  to  have  been  a 
good  man. 

"  After  this,  years  passed.  To  Laborde  they  were 
years  of  remorse.  Hoping  to  get  rid  of  his  misery,  he 
married.  A  daugliter  was  born  to  him.  It  was  of  no 
use.  His  wife  died.  His  daughter  was  sent  to  a  con- 
vent to  be  educated.  He  himself  was  a  lonely,  aimless 
man.  What  was  worse,  he  was  alwavs  under  the 
power  of  Cazeneau,  wlio  never  would  let  go  his  hold. 
This  Cazeneau  S([uandered  the  plunder  of  the  Mon- 
tresors  upon  his  own  vices,  and  soon  became  as  poor 
as  he  was  originally.  After  this  he  lived  upon  Laborde. 


11  g,  and 
y's  good 
lie  Mon- 
fc,  were 
j(l  mucli 

troiil)lo 
>i'tor  liis 
low  had 
or.  Ho 
ifiil  Mo- 

and  has 

s,  and  I 
gave,  in 
lie.  La- 
recoiled, 
sue  your 
['omplete 
\\y  ]\roii- 

reasoii, 
xture  of 

been  a 

|ey  wore 
isery,  lie 
t'  no 


as  o 


|o  a  con- 
aimless 
Id  or   the 

hold. 

M 


lis 
lie 


on- 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


211 


as 


poor 
aborde. 


His  knowledge  of  Laborde's  remorse  gave  him  a  power 
over  him  which  his  niilni{)py  victim  could  not  resist. 
The  false  iuformatiou  whicli  Lal)ord(?  had  sworn  to 
against  the  Count  do  ^lontresor  was  pcrjiiry  ;  and 
Cazeneau,  the  nk^xw  man  who  liad  suggested  it,  was 
always  ready  to  tlireaten  to  denounce  liim  t<»  Fleury. 

"  So  time  went  on.  Laltorde  grew  older,  and  at  last 
the  one  desire  of  liis  life  was  to  make  amends  before 
he  died.  At  lengtli  Fleury  died.  The  new  ministry 
were  dilFerent.  All  oftlK'ni  detested  Cazeneau.  One 
of  them  —  ^laiirei)as  —  was  a  I'riend  to  Laborde.  To 
this  Maurepas,  Lal)orde  told  his  wliole  story,  and 
^hiurepas  promised  that  he  would  do  all  in  his  power 
to  make  amends.  The  greatest  desire  of  Laborde  was 
to  discover  some  one  of  the  family.  lie  had  heard 
tliat  the  count  and  countess  were  both  dead,  but  that 
they  had  left  an  infant  son.  It  was  tliis  that  brought 
l>im  out  here.  He  hoped  to  liiid  that  son,  and  perhaps 
tlie  count  himself,  for  the  proof  of  his  death  was  not 
very  clear.  He  did,  indeed,  iiiid  that  son,  most  won- 
derfully, too,  and  witliout  knowing  it ;  for,  as  you  your- 
self see,  there  cannot  be  a  doubt  that  you  are  that  son. 

"Now,  Laborde  kept  all  tliis  a  profound  secret  from 
Cazeneau,  and  hoped,  on  leaving  France,  never  to  see 
him  again.  Wliat,  liowover,  was  his  amazement,  on 
reaching  the  slii[),  to  learn  that  Cazeneau  also  was 
going!  He  h;  d  got  tlie  ai)pointment  to  Louisb(jiirg 
from  Fleury  Ijofore  his  death,  and  tlie  a{)[)()intment  iiad 
been  confirmed  by  the  new  ministry,  lor  some  reason 
or  other.  I  believe  that  they  will  recall  him  at  once, 
and  use  his  absence  to  elfect  his  ruin.  I  believe  Caze- 
neau expects  this,  and  is  trying  to  strengthen  his 
resources  by  getting  control  of  the   Laborde  estates. 


I 


212 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS, 


M 


I  -      I 


'fill!'!  I 


Ilin  object  in  mnrryin^  Miiiii  is  simjilN'  tliis.  Tlii.s  was 
tlio  cliicjf  dread  of  Ijahoi'dc;  in  dyin;:,*,  and  with  his  last 
words  he  entreated  ni(^  to  watch  over  his  dan^-htcr. 

"  Ca/eneau's  enmity  to  you  must  be  accounted  for 
on  tlie  ground  that  he  (hscovered,  somehow,  your 
parentage.  Mimi  tohl  me  afterwards,  that  he  was  near 
you  one  day,  conceahMl,  while  you  were  telling  her. 
lie  was  listening,  beyond  a  doubt,  and  on  the  first 
opportunity  determined  to  ])ut  you  out  of  the  way. 
He  dreads,  above  all  things,  your  appearance  in  Franco 
as  the  son  of  the  unfortunate  Count  de  Montresor. 
For  now  all  those  who  were  once  powerful  are  dead, 
and  the  present  govermnent  would  be  very  glad  to 
espouse  the  Montresor  cause,  and  make  amends,  as  far 
as  possible,  for  his  wrongs.  They  would  like  to  use 
you  as  a  means  of  dealing  a  destructive  1)1()W  against 
Cazcneau  himself.  Cazeneau's  first  plan  was  to  put 
you  out  of  the  way  on  some  charge  of  treason;  but 
now,  of  course,  the  charge  against  you  will  be  at- 
tempt at  murder.'' 

To  all  this  Claude  listened  witli  much  less  interest 
tlian  he  would  have  felt  formerly.  ]>ut  the  sentence 
of  death  seemed  impending,  and  it  is  not  surprising 
that  the  things  of  tliis  life  seemed  of  small  moment. 

"Well,"  said  he,  with  a  sigh,  "I'm  nuich  obliged 
to  you  for  telling  me  all  this  ;  but  it  makes  very  little 
difference  to  me  now." 

"  Wait  till  you  have  heard  all,"  said  the  priest.  "  I 
have  come  here  for  something  more  ;  but  it  was  neces- 
sary to  tell  you  all  this  at  the  first.  I  have  now  to  tell 
you  that  —  your  position  is  full  of  hope;  in  fact — " 
Here  the  priest  put  his  head  close  to  Claude's  ear,  and 
whispered,  "  I  have  come  to  save  you." 


liis  was 
his  liist 
:lili'r. 
iIlmI  lor 
^v,   your 
vas  nccir 
iii^'  her. 
the  first 
ho  way. 
1  Franco 
)iitrosor. 
,ro  (load, 
gUul  to 
Is,  as  far 

0  to  uso 
V  against 
Ls  to  put 
son ;  but 

1  bo  at- 

intorost 
sontonco 
iirprising 
Duiont. 
obligod 


ery 


littl 


a 


0 


I 


liost. 

las  noccs- 

l.)W  to  toll 

fact—" 

ear,  and 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


213 


"  What !  "  cried  Claude. 

The  priest  })laco(l  his  iiand  on  (Maude's  moutli. 

''No  one  is  listening;  l)ut  it  is  best  to  be  on  our 
guard,"  ho  whis[)erod.  "  Yes,  I  can  save  yon,  and 
will.  This  very  night  you  siiall  bo  [wv,  on  youi*  way 
to  join  your  friend,  the  ca})tain.  To-day  I  received  a 
message  from  him  by  an  Indian.  Ho  had  reached 
Canso.  I  liad  warned  him  to  go  thcic.  The  Indians 
went  on  board,  and  brouglit  his  message.  Via  will 
wait  there  for  us." 

At  this  intelligence,  whicli  to  Claude  was  unex- 
pected and  amazing,  ho  could  not  say  one  word,  l)ut 
sat  witli  (das[)ed  hands  and  a  face  of  rapture.  But 
suddenly  a  thouglit  came  to  his  mind,  which  disturbed 
his  joy.  ^ 

"  Mimi  —  wliat  of  lier  ?  " 

''  You  must  go  alone,"  said  tlie  priest. 

Claude's  face  grew  dark.     lie  shook  his  head. 

'•  Then  E  will  not  go  at  all." 

''Not  go!  Wlio  is  she  —  do  you  know?  Slio  is 
the  daughter  of  Laborde,  tlio  man  wlio  ruined  your 
ftither." 

Claude  compressed  his  lii)s,  and  loc^ked  witli  fixed 
determination  at  the  priest. 

"  iShe  is  not  to  blame,"  said  lie,  "for  iier  iiitlier's 
faults.  She  has  never  known  tliem,  and  never  sliall 
know  them.  Besides,  for  all  that  ho  did,  her  father 
sufTerod,  and  died  while  seeking  to  mak(;  atonement. 
My  father  himself,  were  he  alive,  would  surely  forgive 
that  man  for  all  ho  did  :  and  I  surolv  will  not  cherish 


hate  against  his   memory 


V)   ^limi   shall    be   mine. 


She  is  mine ;  wo  have  exchanged  vows.     I  will  stay 
here  and  die,  rather  than  tro  and  leave  her." 


214 


THE   LILY  AXD    THE   CA'OSS. 


'' Ppokcn  liko  a  youiiu;  fool,  .is  yon  are!"  naid  tho 
priest.  "  Well,  if  you  will  not  go  witliont  lier,  you 
nliall  go  with  her;  l>nt  go  yon  iiuist,  and  to-night." 

"  What  ?  ran  she  go  too,  ai'ter  all  ?  ( ),  my  best  Pero 
Michel,  what  can  I  say?" 

"  Say  nothing  as  yet,  i'or  there  is  one  I'ondition." 

'MVliat  is  that  ?  1  will  agree  to  anything.  Never 
mind  conditions." 

"  You  must  be  married  before  you  go." 

''  Married  ! "  cried  Claude,  in  amazement. 

"  Yes." 

''Married!  How?  Am  T  not  here  in  a  dungeon? 
How  can  slie  and  I  be  mai'ried  ?" 

"  I  will  tell  yini  liow  presently.  But  first,  let  me 
tell  you  why.  First  of  all,  we  may  all  get  scattered 
in  the  woods.  It  will  be  very  desirable  that  she  should 
liave  you  for  her  hnvful  loi'd  and  master,  so  that  you 
can  have  a  right  to  stand  by  her  to  the  last.  You  can 
do  far  more  for  her  than  1  can,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
have  all  the  responsibility.     This  is  one  reason. 

"  But  there  is  anotlicr  reason,  which,  to  me,  is  of 
greater  importance.  It  is  this,  my  son :  You  may  bo 
captured.  The  worst  may  come  to  tho  worst.  You 
may  —  which  may  Heaven  forbid  —  yet  you  may  be 
put  to  deatli.  I  do  not  think  so.  I  hope  not.  I  liope, 
indeed,  that  Cazeneau  may  eventually  fall  a  prey  to 
liis  own  machinations.  But  it  is  necessary  to  take  this 
into  account.  And  then,  my  son,  if  such  a  sad  fate 
sliould  indeed  be  yours,  we  must  both  of  us  think  wliat 
will  be  the  fate  of  Mimi.  If  you  are  not  married,  her 
fate  will  be  swift  and  certain.  She  will  be  forced  to 
marry  this  infamous  miscreant,  who  does  not  even  pre- 
tend to  love  her,  but  merely  wants  her  money.     He 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


215 


ai<l  the 
or,  you 
:]it." 
3st  Pero 


» 


on. 
Never 


Lingcon  ? 

t,  let  mc 
;cattere<l 
le  should 
tliat  you 
1  You  can 
wish  to 


n. 
no,  is 


of 
may  bo 
;t.     You 
may  he 
I  hope, 
prey  to 
take  tills 
sad  fate 
ink  what 
ried,  her 
x)rced  to 
!ven  pre- 
ley.     He 


has  already  told  her  his  intention  —  telUnpj  her  that 
her  father  left  nothing,  and  that  lie  wishes  to  save  liur 
from  want,  whereas  lier  father  left  a  very  large  estate. 
Such  will  bo  her  fate  if  she  is  singlo.  liiit  if  slie  is 
your  wife,  all  will  be  dilferent.  As  your  widow,  she 
will  be  safe.  He  would  liave  to  aUow  lier  a  dectiit 
time  for  ir-jurning;  and  in  any  case  he  would  scarce  be 
able  so  to  defv  j)uhliL'  opinion  as  to  seek  to  marry  the 
widow  of  the  man  wjiom  he  liad  killiMl.  Besides,  to 
gain  time  would  be  everything;  and  before  a  year 
would  be  over,  a  host  of  friends  would  spring  up  to 
save  her  from  him.  This,  then,  is  the  reason  why  I 
think  that  you  sliould  be  married." 

"  I  am  all  amazement,"  cried  Claude,  "  I  am  be- 
wildered. Married  !  Such  a  tiling  would  be  my 
highest  wish.  But  I  don't  understand  all  this.  How 
is  it  possible  to  think  of  marriage  at  such  a  time  as 
this  ?  " 

"  Well,  I  will  now  explain  that,"  said  the  priest. 
"  The  late  commandant  is  a  friend  of  mine.  We  were 
acquainted  with  eacli  other  years  ago  in  France.  As 
soon  as  Cazeneau  made  his  a})pearance  here,  and  you 
were  arrested,  I  went  to  him  and  told  him  the  whole 
story  of  your  parents,  as  I  liave  just  now  told  you.  He 
had  heard  something  about  their  sad  fate  in  former 
years,  and  his  sympathies  were  all  enlisted.  Besides, 
he  looks  upon  Cazeneau  as  a  doomed  man,  tlie  creature 
of  the  late  regime,  the  fallen  ffoverrmient.  He  expects 
that  Cazeneau   will  1 


speedily 


5gn 


and  punished.  He  also  expects  that  the  honors  of  the 
Count  de  Montresor  will  be  restored  to  you.  He  is 
sufficient  of  an  aristo(;rat  to  prefer  an  old  and  honora- 
ble name,  like  Montresor,  to  that  of  a  low  and  un- 


hi  li 


216 


77 IE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


.(  , 


I         t.«i 


'f 


principled  adventurer,  like  Cazeneau,  and  does  not 
wish  to  see  tlie  Countess  Laborde  fall  a  victim  to  the 
machinations  of  a  worn-out  scoundrel.  And  so  the  ex- 
commandant  will  do  all  that  he  can.  AVere  it  not  for 
him,  I  do  not  tliink  1  could  succeed  in  freeing  both  of 
you,  though  I  still  might  contrive  to  free  you  alone." 

''  0,  my  dear  Pere  Michel !  What  can  I  say  ?  I  am 
dumb  ! " 

'■^  Say  nothing.     I  must  go  now." 

"  When  will  you  come  ?  " 

'^  At  midnight.  There  will  be  a  change  of  guards 
then.  The  new  sentry  will  be  fjivorable ;  he  will  run 
away  with  us,  so  as  to  save  himself  from  punishment." 

"  And  when  shall  we  be  married  ?  " 

'^  To-night.  You  will  go  from  here  to  the  com- 
mandant's residence,  and  then  out.  But  we  must 
haste,  for  by  daybreak  Cazeneau  will  discover  all  — 
perhaps  before.  We  can  be  sure,  however,  of  three 
hours.  I  hope  it  will  be  light.  Well,  we  must  trust 
to  Providence.  And  now,  my  son,  farewell  till  mid- 
night." 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


217 


loes  not 
m  to  the 
0  the  ex- 
t  not  for 

both  of 
alone." 

?     I  am 


f  guards 

will  run 

^hment." 

le  com- 
v'^e  must 
er  all  — 
of  three 
ust  trust 
till  mid- 


CHAPTER   XXII. 

ESCAPE. 

CLAUDE  remained  alone  once  more,  witli  his  ])rain 
in  a  wliirl  from  the  tumult  of  thought  wliich  had 
arisen.  This  interview  with  the  priest  liad  Ijeen  the 
most  eventful  hour  of  liis  life.  He  had  learned  the 
secret  of  his  parentage,  the  wrongs  and  sulferings  of 
his  fatlier  and  motlier,  the  villany  of  Cazeneau,  the 
true  reason  lor  tlie  hitter  ennn'ty  which  in  him  had 
triumphed  over  gratitude,  and  made  him  seek  so  per- 
tinaciously  the  life  of  the  man  who  had  once  saved  his 
own. 

It  seemed  like  a  dream.  But  a  slioi-t  time  before 
not  one  ray  of  hope  appeared  to  illuminate  the  mid- 
night gloom  which  reigned  around  liim  and  within 
him.  Now  all  was  dazzling  brightness.  It  seemed  too 
bright ;  it  was  unnatural ;  it  was  too  mucli  to  lio[)e  for. 
That  he  sliould  escape  was  of  itself  liapju'ness  enough  ; 
but  that  he  should  also  join  Mimi  once  more,  and  that 
he  should  l)e  joined  to  her,  no  more  to  part  till  death, 
was  an  incredijjle  thing.  Mimi  liurself  nnist  also' 
know  tliis,  and  was  even  now  Avaiting  for  him,  as  he 
was  waiting  for  her. 

Claude  waited  in  a  fever  of  impatience.  The  mo- 
notonous step  of  tlie  sentry  sounded  out  as  he  paced 
to  and  fro.     At  times  Claude  thought  he  heard  the 


':' 


I .  I 


:    I 


i^il 


218 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


approach  of  footsteps,  ancl  listened  eagerly  ;  but  over 
and  over  again  ho  was  compelled  to  desist,  on  finding 
that  his  senses  deceived  him.  Thus  tlic  time  passed, 
and  as  it  passed,  his  impatience  grew  tlie  more  uncon- 
trollable. Had  it  been  possible,  he  would  have  burst 
open  the  door,  and  ventured  forth  so  as  to  shorten  his 
suspense. 

At  length  a  sound  of  approaching  footsteps  did  in 
reality  arise.  This  time  there  Avas  no  mistake.  He 
heard  voices  outside,  the  challenge  and  re})ly  of  the 
changing  guard.  'J'hen  footsteps  departed,  and  the 
tramp  died  away,  leaving  only  the  pacing  of  the  senti- 
nel for  Claude  to  hear.  Wliat  now  ?  Was  this  the 
sentinel  who  w^as  to  be  his  fi'iend  ?  lie  thought  so. 
He  believed  so.  The  time  passed  —  too  long  a  time, 
he  thought,  for  the  sentinel  gave  no  sign:  still  he  kept 
up  his  monotonous  tramp.  Claude  repressed  his  im- 
patience, and  waited  till,  to  his  astonishment,  wdiat 
seemed  an  immense  time,  had  passed  away  ;  and  the 
sentinel  came  not  to  his  aid. 

Still  the  time  passed.  Claude  did  not  know  what 
to  think.  Gradually  a  sickening  fear  arose  —  the  fear 
that  the  whole  plan  had  been  discovered,  and  that  tlie 
priest  had  foiled.  Perhaps  the  commandant  had  played 
him  false,  and  had  pretended  to  sympathize  with  him 
so  as  to  draw  out  his  purpose,  whicli  he  would  rev(.'al 
to  Cazeneau,  in  order  to  gain  his  gratitude,  and  lay 
him  under  obligation.  The  priest,  he  thought,  was 
too  guileless  to  deal  with  men  of  the  world  like  these. 
He  had  been  caught  in  a  trap,  and  had  involved  him- 
self with  all  the  rest.  His  own  fate  could  be  no  worse 
than  it  Avas  before,  but  it  was  (h)ul)ly  bitter  to  fall 
back  into  his  despair,  after  having  been  for  a  brief 
interval  raised  up  to  so  bright  a  hope. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


219 


t  over 
iiding 
assed, 

lllCOll- 

burst 
en  bin 

did  in 
).     He 

of  tbe 
ad  tbe 
>  senti- 
lis  tbe 
gbt  so. 
a  time, 
lie  kept 
bis  im- 
\^  wbat 
nd  tbe 

^v  wbat 
lie  fear 
liat  tbe 
pUiyed 
tb  bim 
reveal 
uid  lay 
it,  was 
tbese. 
1  bini- 
3  worse 
to  fall 
L  brief 


Sucb  were  tlie  tbougbts  tliat  finally  took  possession 
of  Claude,  and,  witb  every  passing  moment,  deepened 
into  conviction.  Midnigbt  liad  passed ;  tlie  sentry 
bad  come,  and  tbere  be  paced  meclianically,  witb  no 
tbougbt  of  bim.  Eitber  tbe  ex-commandant  or  tbe 
sentinel  bad  betrayed  tbem.  Too  many  bad  been  in 
tbe  secret.  Better  never  to  bave  beard  of  tbis  })lan 
tban,  liaving  beard  of  it,  to  find  it  tbus  dashed  away 
on  tbe  very  eve  of  its  accomplisbment.  Time  [)assed, 
and  every  momer\t  only  added  to  Claude's  bitterness; 
time  passed,  and  every  moment  only  served  to  sbow 
bim  tbat  all  was  over.  A  vague  tbougbt  came  of 
speaking  to  tbe  sentinel;  but  that  was  dismissed. 
Tben  anotber  tbouglit  came,  of  trying  to  tear  away 
tbe  iron  gratiiig:  but  tbe  im|)ossihility  of  tbat  soon 
sliowed  itself.  He  sank  down  upon  liis  litter  of  straw 
in  one  corner,  and  bade  adieu  to  bope.  Tben  be 
started  up,  and  paced  up  and  down  wildly,  unable  to 
yield  so  calmly  to  despair.  Tben  once  more  be  sank 
down  upon  tbe  straw. 

Tbus  be  was  lying,  croucbed  down,  bis  bead  in  bis 
liands,  overwbelmed  utterly,  when  suddenly  a  deep 
sound  came  to  bis  ears,  wbicb  in  an  instant  made  bim 
start  to  bis  feet,  and  drove  away  every  desj)airing 
tbougbt,  bringing  in  pbieo  of  tliese  a  new  wave  of 
bope,  and  joy,  and  an)a/ement.  It  was  tlie  single  toll 
of  tbe  great  bell,  wliicb,  as  be  knew^  always  soinided 
at  midnigbt. 

Midnigbt!  Was  it  i)ossibl(^  ?  Midnight  bad  not 
passed,  tben.  Tlie  change  of  sentry  bad  been  at  nines 
o'clock,  wbicb  be,  deceived  by  the   slow   })i-ogress  of 


<\\ 


'  t''  1 


tbe  bours,  bad 


)sed  to  be  midnigbt.    lie  bad  been 


suppo^ 
mistaken.     Tbere  was  yet  bope.     He   rusbed  to  tbe 


IM 


-i20 


THE  LIl.Y  AND    THE  CROSS. 


:;i 


f  ! 


grating,  and  listoiuMl.  Tliore  woro  footsteps  approach- 
ing—  the  tramp  of  the  relieving  guard.  lie  listened 
till  the  guard  was  relieved,  and  the  departing  foot- 
steps died  away.  Then  began  the  pace  of  the  new 
sentry. 

What  now  ?  Was  there  to  be  a  repetition  of  his 
former  experience  ?  Was  he  agiiin  to  be  dashed  down 
from  this  fresli  hope  into  a  fresh  despair?  lie  nerved 
himself  for  this  new  ordeal,  and  waited  with  a  pain- 
fully throbbing  heart.  At  the  grating  he  stood,  mo- 
tionless, listening,  with  all  his  soul  wrapped  and  ab- 
sorbed in  his  single  sense  of  hearing.  There  were  an 
inner  grating  and  an  outer  one,  and  between  the  two 
a  sash  with  two  panes  of  glass,  lie  could  hear  the 
sentry  as  he  paced  up  and  down  ;  he  could  also  hear, 
ar  away,  the  long,  shrill  note  of  innumerable  frogs  ; 
and  the  one  seemed  as  monotonous,  as  unchangeable, 
and  as  interminable  as  the  other. 

But  at  length  the  pacing  of  the  sentry  ceased. 
Claude  listened ;  the  sentinel  stopped  ;  there  was  no 
longer  any  sound.  Claude  listened  still.  This  was 
the  supreme  hour  of  his  fate.  On  this  moment  de- 
pended all  his  future.  What  did  this  mean?  Would 
the  sentry  begin  his  tramp? 

He  would  ;  he  did.  In  despair  Claude  fled  from 
the  grating,  and  fell  back  upon  the  straw.  For  a  time 
beseemed  unconscious  of  everything;  but  at  length 
lie  was  roused  by  a  rattle  at  the  door  of  his  cell.  In  a 
moment  he  was  on  his  feet,  listening.  It  was  the 
sound  of  a  key  as  it  sh)wly  turned  in  the  lock. 
Claude  moved  not,  spoke  not ;  he  waited.  If  this  was 
his  deliverer,  all  well;  if  not,  he  was  resolved  to  have 
a  struggle  for  freedom.  Then  ho  stole  cautiously  to 
the  door. 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


221 


new 


It  opened.  Claude  tlirnst  his  liand  tlirongh,  and 
seized  a  human  arm.  A  man's  voice  whispered 
back,  — 

"  H-s-s-t  I     Suivez  moi.^^ 

A  thrill  of  rapture  unuttera})lo  passed  throuj^li  every 
nerve  and  fibre  of  Claude.  At  onco  all  tlie  past  was 
forgotten;  forgotten,  also,  were  all  t\u)  dangers  that 
still  lay  before  him.  It  was  enough  that  this  liope  had 
not  been  frustrated,  that  the  sentinel  had  come  to  de- 
liver him  from  the  cell  at  the  midniglit  hour.  Tiie 
cool  breeze  of  night  was  wafted  in  through  the  open 
door,  and  fanned  the  fevered  brow  of  the  ])risoner, 
bearing  on  its  v/ings  a  soothing  influence,  a  healing 
balm,  and  life,  and  hope.  His  presence  of  mind  all 
came  back:  he  was  self-poised,  vigilant,  cool:  all  this 
in  one  instant.  All  his  powers  would  be  needed  to 
carry  him  through  the  remainder  of  the  night ;  and 
these  all  were  summoned  fortli,  and  came  at  his  bid- 
ding.    And  so  Claude  followed  his  guide. 

The  sentinel  led  the  way,  under  the  shadow  of  the 
wall,  towards  the  Residency.  At  one  end  of  this  was 
the  chapel.  Towfirds  this  the  sentinel  guided  Claude, 
and,  on  reaching  it,  opened  tiie  dooi*.  A  hand  seized 
his  arm,  a  voice  whispered  in  his  ear, — 

"  Welcome,  my  son.     Here  is  your  bride." 

And  then  a  soft  hand  was  placed  in  his.  Claude 
knew  whose  hand  it  was.  He  flung  his  arms  around 
the   slender  figure   of  Mimi,  and  pressed  her  to  his 


heart. 


"  Come,"  said  the  priest. 

He  drew  them  up  towards  the  altar, 
present.     Claude  could  not  see  tliem ;  one 
he  could  see,  was  a  female,  whom  he  supposed  to  be 


Others  were 
lowever. 


II 


if  ■' 


i 


i 


_  1 


ti 


222 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


Margot.  The  moonliglit  sliono  in  through  the  great 
window  over  tlie  altar.  Hero  the  priest  stood,  and 
placed  Claude  and  Minii  before  him. 

Then  he  went  through  the  marriage  service.  It 
was  a  strange  wedding  there  at  midnight,  in  the 
moonlit  chapel,  with  the  forms  of  the  spectators  so 
faintly  discerned,  and  the  ghostly  outline  of  priest, 
altar,  and  window  before  them  as  they  knelt.  But 
they  were  married ;  and  Claude  once  more,  in  a  rap- 
ture of  feeling,  pressed  his  wife  to  his  heart. 

They  now  left  the  chapel  by  another  door  in  the 
rear.  The  priest  led  the  way,  together  with  the  senti- 
nel. Here  was  the  wall.  A  flight  of  steps  led  to  the 
top.  On  reaching  this  they  came  to  a  place  where 
there  was  a  ladder.  Down  this  they  all  descended  in 
silence,  and  found  themselves  in  the  ditch.  The  lad- 
der was  once  more  made  use  of  to  climb  out  of  this, 
and  then  Claude  saw  a  figure  crouched  on  the  ground 
and  creeping  towards  them.  It  was  an  Indian,  with 
whom  the  priest  conversed  in  his  own  language  for  a 
moment. 

"  All  is  well,"  he  whispered  to  Claude.  "  The  cap- 
tain is  waiting  for  us  many  miles  from  this.  And 
now,  forward  ! '' 

The  Indian  led  the  way ;  then  went  the  priest ; 
then  Claude  with  Mimi ;  then  Margot ;  last  of  all  came 
the  sentinel,  who  had  deserted  his  post,  and  was  now 
seeking  safety  in  flight  under  the  protection  of  Pere 
Michel.  Such  was  the  little  party  of  fugitives  that 
now  sought  to  escape  from  Louisbourg  into  the  wild 
forest  around.  After  walking  for  about  a  mile,  they 
reached  a  place  where  five  horses  were  bound.  Here 
they  proceeded  to  mount. 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


223 


cap- 
Aud 


"I  sent  these  out  after  sundown/'  said  tlie  priest  to 
Claude.  "  There  are  not  many  liorses  in  Louisl)ourg. 
These  will  assist  us  to  escape,  and  will  bo  lost  to  those 
who  pursue.  Here,  my  son,  arm  yourself,  so  as  to  de- 
fend your  wife,  in  case  of  need." 

With  these  words  the  priest  handed  Clau(h)  a 
sword,  pointing  also  to  pistols  wln'ch  wore  in  the 
holster.  The  Indian  alone  remained  on  foot.  He 
held  the  bridle  of  the  priest's  horse,  and  led  the  way, 
sometimes  on  what  is  called  an  '^  Inditm  trot,"  at  other 
times  on  a  walk.  The  others  all  followed  at  the  same 
pace. 

The  road  was  the  same  one  whicli  had  been  traversed 
by  Claude  and  Mimi  when  they  first  came  to  Ijouisbourg 
—  a  wide  trail,  rougli,  yet  serviceable,  over  which 
many  pack-liorses  and  droves  of  cattle  had  i)assed, 
but  one  which  was  not  fitted  for  wdieels,  and  w^as 
rather  a  trail  than  a  road.  On  each  side  the  ti'ees 
arose,  which  threw  a  deep  sliade,  so  that,  in  spite  of 
the  moon  which  shone  overhead,  it  was  too  dark  to  go 
at  any  very  rapid  pace. 

"  We  must  make  all  the  haste  wo  can,"  said  the 
priest.  "  In  three  hours  they  will  probal)y  discover 
all.  Tlie  alarm  will  be  given,  and  we  sliall  be  pur- 
sued. In  these  tln-ee  hours,  then,  we  must  get  so  far 
ahead  that  they  may  not  be  able  to  come  up  witli  us." 

At  first  the  pathway  w^as  wide  enough  for  tlicni  ah 
to  move  at  a  rapid  pace  ;  but  soon  it  began  to  grow 
narrower.  As  tliey  advanced,  the  trees  grew  taller, 
and  the  shadows  which  tliey  tlu-ew  were  darker.  The 
path  became  more  winding,  for,  like  all  trails,  it 
avoided  the  larger  trees  or  stones,  and  wound  around 
them,  where  a  road  would  have  led  to  their  removal. 


I' 
I 


ifi 


!>•■,  ;■    H  It; 


%  ■.( 


I-; 


Hi 


'■ii 


ili 


s  i^'iid 


in 


ll|l 


M 


s ': 


i! 


?:'■; 


224 


T//P:  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


The  pjitli  also  became  ronj2;]ior,  from  stones  wliicli  pro- 
truded in  many  places,  or  from  long  roots  stretching 
across,  which  in  the  darkness  made  tlie  liorses  stumble 
incessantly.  These  it  was  impossil)le  to  avoid.  In 
addition  to  these,  there  were  miry  places,  where  the 
horses  sank  deep,  and  could  only  extricate  themselves 
with  difficulty. 

Thus  their  progress  grew  less  and  less,  till  at  lengtli 
it  dwindled  to  a  walk,  and  a  slow  one  at  that.  Notli- 
ing  else  couhl  be  done.  They  all  saw  the  impossi- 
bility of  xaox't.  rapid  progress,  in  the  darkness,  over 
such  a  path.  Of  them  all,  Claude  was  the  most  impa- 
tient, as  was  natural.  His  sense  of  danger  was  most 
keen.  The  terror  of  the  night  had  not  yet  passed 
away.  Already,  more  than  once,  he  had  gone  from 
despair  to  hope,  and  back  once  more  to  despair  ;  and 
it  seemed  to  him  as  though  his  soul  must  still  vibrate 
between  these  two  extremes.  The  hope  which  was 
born  out  of  new-found  freedom  was  now  rapidly  yield- 
ing to  the  fear  of  pursuit  and  re-capture. 

In  the  midst  of  these  thoughts,  he  came  forth  sud- 
denly upon  a  broad,  open  plain,  filled  with  stout  under- 
brush. Through  tliis  tlie  trail  ran.  Reaching  this, 
the  whole  party  urged  their  horses  at  full  speed,  and 
for  at  least  three  miles  they  were  able  to  maintain  this 
rapid  progress.  At  the  end  of  that  distance,  the  trail 
once  more  entered  the  woods,  and  the  pace  dwindled 
to  a  walk.  But  that  three-mile  run  cheered  the  spirits 
of  all. 

"  How  many  miles  have  we  come,  I  wonder  ?  "  asked 
Claude. 

"  About  six,"  said  the  priest. 


A   TALE  OF  ACADTA. 


225 


3h  pro- 
itching 
tumble 
id.  In 
)re  the 
[iselves 

Icn^-th 
Notli- 
npossi- 
;s,  over 
t  inipa- 
is  most 
passed 
le  from 
ir  ;  and 
vibrate 
icli  was 
y  yield- 

'th  siid- 
:  under- 
ng  this, 
sed,  and 
ain  this 
ho  trail 
vvindled 
e  spirits 


"  How  many  miles  is  it  to  the  schooner  ?  " 
"  About  forty." 
Claude  drew  a  long  breath. 

"  It  must   be  iieai'ly  three  o'clock  in  the  morning 
now,"  said  he.     "  1  dare  say  they  are  linding   it  out 


now 


>> 


"  Well,  we  needn't  stop  to  listen,"  said  the  priest. 

"  No  ;  we'll  hear  them  soon  enougli." 

"  At  any  rate,  the  dawn  is  coming,"  said  the  ])i'iest. 
"  The  day  will  soon  be  here,  and  then  we  can  go  on 
as  fast  as  we  wish." 

15 


?> 


asked 


I 

t 


1. 


1,1 


■I;. 


-■ill 


i  I! 


nil 


l!;i!ll^ 


■  e  .      ^ 


226 


r//Z:  Z/ZK  /iAX>    7V/E  C/iOSS. 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 


PURSUIT. 


AS  they  hurried  on,  it  grew  gradually  lighter,  so 
that  they  were  able  to  advance  more  rapidly. 
The  patli  remained  about  tlio  same,  winding  as  bo- 
fore,  and  with  tlie  same  alternations  of  roots,  stones, 
and  swamp  ;  but  the  daylight  made  all  the  difference 
in  the  world,  and  they  were  now  able  to  urge  their 
horses  at  the  top  of  their  speed.  Tlie  Indian  who  was 
at  their  head  was  able  to  keep  there  witliout  much 
apparent  effort,  never  holding  back  or  falling  behind, 
though  if  the  ground  had  been  smoother  he  could 
scarcely  have  done  so.  With  every  step  the  dawn 
advanced,  until  at  last  the  sun  rose,  and  all  the  forest 
grew  bright  in  the  beams  of  day.  A  feeling  of  hope 
and  joy  succeeded  to  the  late  despondency  which  had 
been  creeping  over  tliem ;  but  this  only  stimulated 
them  to  redoubled  exertions,  so  that  they  miglit  not, 
after  all,  find  themselves  at  last  cheated  out  of  these 
bright  hopes. 

That  they  were  now  pursued  they  all  felt  confident. 
At  three  o'clock  the  absence  of  the  sentry  must  have 
been  discovered,  and,  of  course,  the  fliglit  of  Claude. 
Thereupon  the  alarm  would  at  once  be  given.  Caze- 
neau  would  probably  be  aroused,  and  would  proceed 
to  take  action  immediately.     Even  under  what  might 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


I'll 


iter,  so 

rapidly. 

iis  bc- 

stoiios, 

Torenco 

,-e  tlicir 

v^lio  was 

,t  iniicli 

behind, 

could 

e  dawn 

D  forest 

of  hope 

ich  had 

niilated 

ht  not, 

l)f  these 

iifident. 
ist  have 
Claude. 
Caze- 
)roceed 
t  might 


be  the  most  favoral)le  circumstanec^s  to  them,  it  was 
not  likely  that  there  would  be  a  delay  of  more  than 
an  hour. 

Besides,  the  pursuer  had  an  advantage  over  them. 
Tliey  had  a  startof  tlu'ee  houi-s  :  but  llios(?  three  hours 
were  spent  in  darkness,  whon  they  were  al)ltj  to  go 
over  but  little  ground.  All  tiiat  they  had  toiled  so 
long  in  order  to  traverse,  tlieir  pursuers  could  pass 
over  in  one  quarter  the  time,  and  onocpiarter  the  lal)or. 
They  were  virtually  not  more  than  one  hour  in  ad- 
vance of  the  enemy,  who  would  liave  fresher  horses, 
with  which  to  lessen  even  tliis  small  advantage.  And 
by  the  most  favoral)le  calculation,  there  remained  yet 
before  them  at  least  thirty  miles,  over  a  rough  and 
toilsome  comitry.     C     dd  they  hoi)e  to  escape? 

Such  were  the  thoughts  tliat  came  to  Claude's  mind, 
and  such  the  question  that  came  to  him.  Tliat  ques- 
tion he  did  not  care  to  discuss  with  himself.  He  could 
only  resolve  to  keep  up  the  Higlit  till  the  last  moment, 
and  then  resist  to  the  bitter  end. 

But  now  there  arose  a  new  danger,  wliich  brought 
fresh  difficulties  with  it,  and  filled  Claude  with  new 
despondency.  This  danger  arose  from  a  quarter  in 
which  he  was  most  assailable  to  fear  and  anxiety  — 
from  Mimi. 

He  had  never  ceased,  since  they  first  left,  to  watch 
over  his  bride  with  the  most  anxious  solicitude,  some- 
times riding  by  her  side  and  holding  her  hand,  when 
the  path  admitted  it,  at  other  times  riding  behind 
her,  so  as  to  keep  her  in  view,  and  all  the  time  never 
ceasing  to  address  to  her  words  of  comfort  and  good 
cheer.  To  all  his  questions  Mimi  liad  never  failed  to 
respond  in  a  voice  which  was  full  of  cheerfidness  and 


228 


THE  LI  I  A'  AM)    THE  CROSS, 


' ) ' 


H{)riglillincss,  siiid  no  inisjjjiviiifjjs  du  lior  account  entered 
his  mind  until  the  \'\\*:}\\  gnnv  hri^-|it  enough  for  him  to 
wee  her  face.  Then  Ijo  was  struck  hy  her  appearance. 
She  seemed  so  f'eehle,  so  worn,  so  fatigued,  that  a  great 
fear  came  over  him. 

*'  0,  Minii,  darling !  "  he  cried,  "  tiiis  is  too  much  for 
you." 

"  0,  no,"  she  rep^ed,  in  the  same  tone  ;  "  I  can  keep 
up  as  long  as  you  wish  me  to.'' 

"  13ut  you  look  so  completely  worn  out !  " 

"  0,  tliat's  because  I've  heen  fretting  ahout  you  — 
you  bad  boy  ;  it's  not  this  I'ide  at  all." 

"  Are  you  sure  that  you  can  keep  up  ?  " 

"  Wliy,  of  course  I  am;  and  I  must,  for  there's 
nothing  elstj  to  be  done." 

'^  0,  Mimi,  I'm  afraid — I'm  very  much  afraid  that 
you  will  break  down." 

At  tliis  Mimi  gave  a  little  laugh,  l»ut  said  nothing, 
and  Claude  found  himself  compelled  to  trust  to  hope. 
Thus  they  went  on  for  some  time  longer. 

]>ut  at  length  Claude  was  no  longer  al>le  to  conceal 
the  truth  from  himself,  r  "  was  Mimi  able  nny  longer 
to  uiaintain  her  lovip-  .ption.     She  was  exceed- 

ingly weak ;   she  w  .crly  worn  out ;  and  in  pain 

Claude  saw  her  foi..i  swa>'  to  and  fro  and  tremble. 
He  asked  iier  imploringly  to  stop  and  rest.  But  at  the 
sound  of  his  voice,  Mimi  roused  herself  once  more,  by 
a  great  elFort. 

"  0,  no,"  she  said,  with  a  strong  attempt  to  speak 
unconcernedly  ;  '^  0,  no.  I  acknowledge  I  am  a  little 
tired  ;  and  if  we  come  to  any  place  where  we  may  rest, 
I  think  I  shall  do  so ;  but  not  here,  not  here ;  let  us 
r^  farther." 


\ 


//    TALE   OF  ACAD/ A. 


entered 

•  him  to 

iiiranco. 

a  great 


lUC 


h  for 


jan  keep 


it  you  — 


'  there's 

raid  that 

nothing, 
to  hope. 

0  conceal 
ny  longer 
s  exceed- 

1  in  pain 
tremble. 

3ut  at  the 
1  more,  by 

t  to  speak 

am  a  little 

may  rest, 

re ;  let  us 


Claude  drew  a  long  breath.  Peep  aiixioly  over- 
whelmed him.  Mimi  was,  in  trutli,  right.  Ilow  could 
they  dare  to  pause  just  here  ?  TIm'  jiuisuci' was  on 
tlieir  track!  No;  tlicy  nuist  kccj)  on;  and  if  Mimi 
did  sink,  what  then?  I>ut  ho  would  not  lliiiik  of  it; 
he  would  hope  that  Mimi  would  be  able,  alter  all,  to 
hold  out. 

But  at  length  what  Claude  had  feared  came  to  pass. 
He  had  been  riding  behind  Mimi  for  sc^me  time,  so  as 
to  watch  her  better,  when  suddenly  he  saw  her  slender 
frame  reel  to  one  side.  A  low  crv  came  from  hei-.  in 
an  instant  Claude  was  at  her  side,  and  caught  her  in 
his  arms  in  time  to  save  hei'  from  a  fall. 

Mimi  had  not  fainted,  but  was  simply  |)rostrated 
from  sheer  fatigue.  No  strength  was  lel't,  and  it  was 
impossible  for  her  to  sit  up  any  longer.  She  had 
struggled  to  bear  upas  long  as  possible,  and  (inally  had 
given  way  alt(>gether. 

"  1  cannot  help  it,"  she  murmured. 

"  0,  my  darling !  "  cried  Claude,  in  a  voice  of  an- 
guish. 

"  Forgive  me,  dear  Claude.     I  cannot  help  it !  " 

''  0,  don't  talk  so,"  said  Claude.  ''  1  ought  to  have 
seen  your  weakness  ])efore,  and  given  you  assistance. 
But  come  now  ;  1  will  hold  you  in  my  arms,  and  we 
will  still  be  able  to  go  on." 

"  I  wish  you  would  leave  me  ;  only  leave  me,  and 
then  you  can  be  saved.  There  is  no  danger  for  me  ; 
but  if  you  are  captured,  your  life  will  be  taken.  (), 
Claude,  dearest  Claude,  leave  me  and  fly." 

"  You  distress  me,  Mimi,  darling,  by  all  this.  I  can- 
not leave  you ;  I  would  rather  die  than  do  so.  And 
so,  if  you  love  me,  don't  talk  so." 


!*.■ 


'( 


230 


THE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


'iiit 


'   f:  .   t 


i-    .'I 


'II  ! 


ll! 


At  this,  witli  a  little  sob,  Mimi  relapsed  into  silence. 

'^  Courage,  darling,"  said  Claude,  in  soothing  tones. 
"  Who  knows  but  that  they  are  still  in  Louisbourg, 
and  have  not  yet  left  ?  We  may  get  away,  after  all ; 
orwc  may  find  some  place  of  hiding." 

The  additional  burden  which  he  had  been  forced  to 
assume  overweighted  very  serio^'sly  Claude's  horse, 
and  signs  of  tliis  began  to  appear  before  long.  No 
sooner,  however,  had  Claude  perceived  that  it  was  dif- 
ficult to  keep  with  the  rest  of  the  party,  than  he  con- 
cluded to  shift  himself,  with  Mimi,  to  the  horse  which 
Mimi  had  left.  This  was  one  of  the  best  and  freshest 
of  the  whole  party,  and  but  a  slight  delay  was  occa- 
sioned by  the  cliange. 

After  tliis  they  kept  up  a  good  rate  of  speed  for 
more  than  two  hours,  when  Claude  once  more  changed 
to  another  horse.  This  time  it  was  to  Margot's  horse, 
which  had  done  less  thus  far  tlian  any  of  the  others. 
Margot  then  took  tlie  horse  which  Claude  had  at  first, 
and  thus  they  went  on.  It  was  a  good  contrivance, 
for  thus  by  changing  about  from  one  to  another,  and 
by  allowing  one  horse  to  be  led,  the  endurance  of  the 
whole  was  maintained  longer  than  would  otherwise 
have  been  possible. 

But  at  length  tlie  long  and  fatiguing  journey  began 
to  tell  most  seriously  on  all  the  liorses,  and  all  began 
to  see  that  further  progress  would  not  be  nmch  longer 
possible.  For  many  hours  they  had  kept  on  tlieir 
path  ;  and,  though  the  distance  which  they  had  gone 
was  not  more  than  twenty-five  miles,  yet,  so  rougli  had 
been  the  road  that  tlie  labor  had  been  excessive,  and 
all  the  horses  needed  rest.  By  this  time  it  was  mid- 
day, and  they  all  found  themselves  face  to  face  with  a 


(ill 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


231 


silence. 
g  tones, 
isbourg, 
fter  all ; 

orccd  to 
s  horse, 
ng.  No 
was  dif- 

lic  con- 
^e  which 

freshest 
^as  occa- 

peed  for 
changed 
t's  horse, 
le  others, 
d  at  first, 
itrivance, 
)ther,  and 
ice  of  the 
otherwise 

ley  began 
all  l)cgan 
ich  longer 
oil  tlieir 
had  gone 
rough  had 
sssive,  and 
t  was  mid- 
ice  with  a 


question  of  fearful  import,  wliicli  none  of  them  knew 
how  to  answer.  Tlie  question  was,  what  to  do.  Could 
\\\Qy  stop?  Dare  they?  Yet  they  must.  For  the 
present  they  continued  on  a  little  longer. 

Tliey  now  come  to  another  open  space,  overgroAvn 
with  slirubbery,  similar  to  that  whicli  they  had  trav- 
ersed in  the  night.  It  was  about  two  miles  in  extent, 
and  at  the  otlier  end  arose  a  bare,  rocky  hill,  beyond 
which  was  the  forest. 

"  We  must  halt  at  tlie  top  of  tliat  liill,"  said  Claude. 
''  It's  the  best  place.  We  can  guard  against  a  surprise, 
at  any  rate.  Some  of  the  horses  will  drop  if  we  go 
on  much  farther." 

''  I  suppose  we'll  liave  to,"  said  tlie  priest. 

^'  We  must  rest  for  lialf  an  liour,  at  least,"  said 
Claude.  *^  If  tliey  come  up,  we'll  have  to  scatter,  and 
take  to  the  woods." 

With  these  words  they  rode  on,  and  at  leiigtli  reached 
the  hill.  The  path  w^ound  up  it,  and  in  due  time  tliey 
reached  the  top. 

But  scarcely  had  they  done  so,  than  a  loud  cry 
sounded  out,  which  thrilled  through  all  hearts.  Im- 
mediately after,  a  figure  came  bounding  towards  them. 

^'  Hooray  !  Hip,  hip,  hooray  !  "  shouted  the  new 
comer. 

''  Heavens  !  Zac  !  "  cried  Claude  ;  "  you  here  ?  " 

"  Nobody  else,"  I'eplied  Zac,  wringing  his  hand. 
'^  But  what  are  you  going  to  do  ?  " 

*'  Our  horses  are  blown  ;  we  are  pursued,  but  have 
to  halt  for  a  half  hour  or  so.  If  they  come  up,  we'll 
have  to  scatter,  and  take  to  the  woods,  and  start  the 
horses  ahead  on  the  path.  This  is  a  good  lookout 
place." 


. 


I   I 


liT 


'!'f 


\4  nil 


232 


7V/E  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


Witli  tliesc  words  Claude  began  to  dismount,  bearing 
his  beloved  burden.  The  priest  assisted  him.  Zac, 
after  his  first  hurried  greeting,  liad  moved  towards 
Margot,  around  whom  he  threw  his  arms,  with  an  en- 
ergetic clasp,  and  lifted  her  from  the  saddle  to  the 
ground.     Then  he  shook  hands  v/itli  he^. 

"  I'm  ver  mooch  glad  to  see  you,"  said  Margot. 
"Ees  your  sheep  far  off?  '"' 

"  So,  they're  ^f  or  you  —  air  they  ?  "  said  he.  '^  Wal, 
little  one,  when  they  come,  you  stick  to  me  —  mind 
that ;  an'  I  engage  to  get  you  off  free.  Stick  to  me, 
though.     Be  handy,  an'  I'll  take  you  clar  of  them." 

Claude  was  now  engaged  in  finding  a  comfortable 
place  upon  which  Minii  might  recline.  The  Indian 
stood  as  lookout ;  the  deserter  busied  himself  with  the 
horses ;  the  priest  stood  near,  watching  Claude  and 
Mimi,  while  Zac  devoted  himself  to  Margot.  In  the 
midst  of  this,  the  Indian  came  and  said  something  to 
the  priest.     Claude  noticed  this,  and  started. 

"What  is  it?"  he  asked. 

"He  hears  tliem,"  said  the  priest,  significantly. 

"  So  soon  !  "  exclaimed  Claude.  "  Then  we  must 
scatter.  The  horses  will  be  of  no  use.  Our  last  chance 
is  the  woods." 

In  a  moment  the  alarm  was  made  ;  hasty  directions 
were  given  for  eacli  one  to  take  care  of  liimself,  and  if 
he  eluded  tlie  pursuers,  to  follow  the  path  to  the  place 
where  the  schooner  lay.  Meanwliile  the  horses  were 
to  be  driven  ahead  by  tlie  Indian  as  far  as  possible. 
The  Indian  at  once  went  off,  together  witli  the  de- 
serter, and  these  two  drove  the  horses  before  them 
into  the  woods,  along  the  path.  Then  Zac  followed. 
Lifting  Margot  in  his  arms,  he  bore  her  lightly  along, 
and  soon  disappeared  in  the  woods. 


'■!"*■  "1*811 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


233 


iaring 

Zac, 

wards 

111  cn- 

to  the 

^argot. 

"  Wal, 
-  mind 
to  me, 

jrtable 
Indian 
ith  tlie 
de  and 
la  the 
ling  to 


ly. 

e  must 
,  chance 

rections 
f,  and  if 
lie  place 
ics  were 
lossibk^ 
the  de- 
re  them 
■yllowed. 
ly  along, 


Then  Claude  took  IMinii  in  liis  arms,  and  liastened  as 
fast  as  he  could  towards  the  shelter  of  the  woods.  But 
Claude  had  not  Zac's  strength,  and  liesides,  Mimi  was 
more  of  a  dead  weight  than  ^hirgot,  so  that  he  could 
not  go  nearly  so  fast.  Zac  was  in  the  woods,  and  out 
of  sight,  long  before  Claude  liad  readied  the  place  ; 
and  by  that  time  the  rest  of  tlie  party,  botli  Iku-scs  and 
men,  had  all  disappeared,  with  the  exception  of  Pere 
Michel.  The  good  priest  kejjt  ck)se  by  the  young  man, 
as  though  resolved  to  share  his  fate,  wliether  in  life  or 
death.  If  it  was  difficult  wliile  carrying  Minn'  over 
the  path,  Claude  found  it  far  more  so  on  reacliing  tlio 
woods.  Here  he  dared  not  keep  io  the  path,  for  tlie 
very  object  of  going  to  tlie  woods  was  to  elude  obser- 
vation by  plunging  into  its  darkest  and  deepest  re- 
cesses. Zac  had  gone  there  at  a  headlong  rate,  like  a 
fox  to  his  covert.  Such  a  speed  Claude  could  not 
rival,  and  no  sooner  did  he  take  one  stc})  in  the  woods, 
than  he  perceived  the  full  difficulty  of  his  task.  The 
woods  were  of  the  wildest  kind,  lilled  with  rocks 
and  fallen  trees,  the  surface  of  the  ground  being  most 
irregular.  At  every  other  step  it  was  necessary  to 
clamber  over  some  obstacle,  or  crawl  under  it. 

"  We  cannot  hope  to  go  far,"  said  the  priest.  "  Our 
only  course  now  will  be  to  lind  some  convenient  hiding- 
place.  Perhaps  they  will  pass  on  ahead,  and  then  we 
can  go  farther  on." 

At  this  very  moment  the  noise  of  horses  and  nuui 
sounded  close  behind.  One  hurried  look  showed  theni 
all.  Their  pursuers  had  reached  their  late  halting- 
place,  and  were  hurrying  forward.  The  place  bore 
traces  of  their  halt,  which  did  not  escape  the  keen  eyes 
of  their  enemies.     At  the  sight,  Claude  threw  himself 


ii 


'  >l  i 


iM 


234 


TNE  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS, 


clown  in  fi  liollow  beliind  a  tree,  witli  ^limi  beside  him, 
while  the  priest  did  the  smne. 

The  suspicions  of  the  pursuers  seemed  to  li.ivo  been 
awakened  by  tlie  signs  whicli  they  liad  seen  at  tlie  last 
halting-place.  They  rode  on  more  slowly.  At  lengtli 
tliey  divided,  liall'  of  them  riding  rapidly  ahead,  and 
the  otlier  half  moving  forward  at  a  walk,  and  scanning 
every  foot  of  ground  in  the  open  and  in  tlie  woods. 

At  last  a  cry  escaped  one  of  them.  Claude  heard  it. 
Tlie  next  moment  he  heard  footsteps.  The  enemy 
were  upon  him  ;  their  cries  rang  in  his  ears.  In  all 
the  fury  of  despiiir,  he  started  to  liis  feet  with  only  one 
thought,  and  that  was,  to  sell  his  life  as  dearly  as  pos- 
sible. But  iMiini  flung  herself  in  his  arms,  and  the 
priest  held  his  hands. 

"  Yield,"  said  the  priest.  "  You  can  do  nothing. 
There  is  yet  hope." 

The  next  moment  Claude  was  disarmed,  and  in  the 
hands  of  his  enemies. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


235 


CHAPTER   XXiy. 


ZAC   AND   MARGOT. 


QEIZTXG  Margot  in  liis  arms  at  tlio  first  alarm,  Zac 
^    had    fled    to    the    woods.     I^oino-    stronger    than 
Ckude,  he  was  fortunate  in  liaving  a  less   unwieldy 
burden;  for  Margot  did  no.    lie  like  a  heavy  weiglit 
in  his  arms,  but  was  able  to  dispose  herself  in  a  way 
which    rendered    lier  more   easy   to   be   carried.     On 
reaching  the  woods,  Zac  did  not  at  once   plunge   in 
among  the  trees,  l)ut  continued  along  tlie  trail  for  some 
distance,  asking  Margot  to  tell  him  tlie  moment  she 
saw  one  of  tlie  pursuing  party.     As  Margot's  face  was 
turned  back,  she  was  in  a  position  to  watch.     It  was 
Zac's  intention  to  find  some  better  place  for  flight  than 
the  stony  and  swampy  ground  at  tha  outer  edge  of  the 
forest;  and  as  he  hurried  idong,  he  watclied  narrowly 
for  a  good  opportunity  to  leave  the   path.     At  lengtli 
he  reached  a  place  where  the  ground  descended  on 
the  other  side  of  the  hill,  and  here  lie  came  to  some 
pme  trees.     There  was  ])ut  little  underbrush,  the  sur- 
face   of  the   ground   was   comparatively   smooth,  and 
good    progress    could    be   made   here  without   nnndi 
difficulty.     Here,   then,  Zac  turned  in.     As  he   hur- 
ried   onward,    he    found    the    pine    forest    contiiun'ng 
along  the  whole  slope,  and  but  few  obstacles  in  his 
way.     Occasionally  a  fallen  tree  lay  before  him,  and 


m 


fc 


I  '"t^ 


i       ! 


ill 


U4 


». 


236 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


this  he  could  easily  avoid.  TTurryiiip^  on,  then,  under 
these  favorable  circumstances,  Zac  was  soon  lost  in 
the  vast  forest,  and  out  of  siglit  as  well  as  out  of 
hearing  of  all  his  purposes.  Here  lie  might  liave 
rested;  but  still  he  kej)t  on.  He  was  not  one  to  do 
things  by  halves,  and  chose  rather  to  make  assurance 
doubly  sure ;  and  althougli  even  Mai-got  begged  him 
to  put  her  down,  yet  he  would  not. 

"  Wal,"  said  lie,  at  last,  " 'tain't  often  I  liave  you; 
an'  now  I  got  you,  I  ain't  goin'  to  lot  you  go  I'or  a 
good  bit  yet.  Besides,  you  can't  ever  tell  wlien  you're 
safe.     Nothin'  like  makin'  things  sure,  I  say." 

With  these  words  Zac  kept  on  his  way,  though  at  a 
slower  pace.  It  was  not  necessary  for  him  to  fly  so 
rapidly,  nor  was  he  quite  so  iVesh  as  when  he  started. 
Margot  also  noticed  this,  and  began  to  insist  so  vehe- 
mently on  getting  down,  that  he  was  com])elled  to 
grant  her  request.  He  still  held  her  hand,  however, 
and  thus  the  two  went  on  f )r  some  distance  firther. 

At  last  they  reached  a  point  where  there  was  an 
abrupt  and  ahnost  precii)it()us  descent.  Fi'om  this 
crest  of  the  precipice  the  eye  could  wander  over  a 
boundless  prospect  of  green  forest,  terminated  in  the 
distance  by  wooded  hills. 

"  Wal,"  said  Zac,  ''  I  think  we  may  as  well  rest  our- 
selves here." 

"  Dat  is  ver  nice,"'  said  Margot. 

Zac  now  arranged  a  seat  for  her  l)y  gathering  some 
moss  at  the  foot  of  a  tree.  She  seated  herself  here, 
and  Zac  placed  himself  l>y  her  side.  lie  then  opened 
a  bag  which  he  carried  slung  about  liis  slioulders,  and 
brought  forth  some  biscuit  and  ham,  which  proved  a 
most  grateful  repast  to  his  companion. 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


237 


"  Do  you  tink  (ley  chase  iis  liere?  "  asked  ^largot. 

"  Wal,  we're  safer  here,  ef  tliey  do,"  said  Zac.  "We 
can't  be  taken  by  surprise  in  tlie  rear,  lor  tliey  can't 
climb  up  very  easy  without  our  seein'  'eui ;  an'  as  for 
a  front  attack,  why,  111  kee})  my  eye  open:  an'  I'd 
like  to  see  the  Injin  or  the  Moosoo  that  can  come  un- 
awars  on  me.  I  don't  mind  two  or  three  of  'em,  any 
way,"  continued  Zac,  "  for  I've  got  a  couple  of  bull- 
dogs." 

"Boul-dogs?"  said  Margot,  inquiringly. 

"  Yes,  these  here,"  said  Zac,  opening  liis  frock,  and 
displaying  a  belt  arouxul  his  waist,  wliich  held  a  brace 
of  pistols.  "  But  I  don't  expect  Til  have  to  use  'em, 
except  when  I  heave  in  sight  of  the  skewner,  an'  want 
to  hail  'em." 

"  But  we  are  loss,"  said  Margot,  "  in  dis  great  woos. 
How  sail  we  ever  get  anywhar  out  of  him?  " 

"  0,  that's  easy  enough,"  said  Zac.  "  I  know  all 
about  the  woods,  and  can  find  my  way  anywliars. 
My  idee  is,  to  go  back  towards  tlie  trail,  strike  into 
it,  an'  move  along  slowly  an'  cautiously,  till  w^e  git 
nigh  the  place  whar  I  left  the  skewner." 

Zac  waited  in  tliis  place  till  towards  evening,  and 
then  started  once  more.  He  ])egan  to  retrace  his 
steps  in  a  direction  wliich  he  judged  would  ultimately 
strike  the  trail,  along  which  he  liad  resolved  to  go. 
He  had  weighed  the  cliances,  and  concluded  that  this 
would  be  his  best  course.  He  would  have  tlie  night 
to  do  it  in ;  and  if  he  should  come  unawares  upon  any 
of  his  enemies,  he  tliouglit  it  would  l)e  easy  to  dasli 
into  the  woods,  and  escape  under  tlie  cover  of  the 
darkness.  Vigilance  only  was  necessary,  together 
with  coolness  and  nerve,  and  all  these  qualities  he 
believed  himself  to  have. 


m 


},i 


, 


ii  V 


!- 


i  i; 


h 


ill 

it; 


8^ 


n 


Ih 


238 


Ty/TT  L/LV  AND    TIIi:   CROSS. 


The  knowledge  of  tlie  woocIh  wliicli  Zae  claimed 
stood  him  in  good  stead  on  the  present  occasion ;  he 
was  able  to  guide  his  course  in  a  very  satisfactory 
manner ;  and  about  sundown,  or  a  little  after,  he 
struck  the  trail.  Here  lie  waited  for  a  short  time, 
watching  and  listening;  and  then,  having  lieard  noth- 
ing whatever  tliat  indicated  danger,  he  went  boldly 
forward,  with  Margot  close  behind.  As  they  ad- 
vanced, it  grew  gradually  darker,  and  at  lengtli  the 
night  came  doAvn.  Overhead  the  moon  shone,  disclos- 
ing a  strip  of  sky  where  tlie  trees  opened  above  the 
path.  For  hours  tliey  walked  along.  No  enemy  ap- 
peared ;  and  at  length  Zac  concluded  that  they  had  all 
dispersed  through  the  woods,  at  tlie  point  where  they 
had  first  come  upon  them,  and  ha<l  not  followed  the  patli 
any  farther.  What  had  become  of  Claude  he  could  not 
imagine,  but  could  only  hope  for  the  best. 

They  rested  for  about  an  hour  at  midnight.  Then 
Zac  carried  Margot  for  another  hour.  After  this,  iMar- 
got  insisted  on  Avalking.  At  length,  after  having  thus 
passed  the  whole  niglit,  the  path  came  to  a  creek. 
Here  Zac  paused. 

"  Now,  little  gal,"  said  he,  "  you  may  go  to  sleep  till 
mornin',  for  I  think  we've  got  pooty  nigh  onto  the  end 
of  our  tramp." 

With  these  Avords  Zac  led  the  way  a  little  distance 
from  the  path,  and  here  ^largot  flung  herself  upon  a 
grassy  knoll,  and  fell  sound  asleep,  while  Zac,  at  a  little 
distance  off,  held  watch  and  guard  over  her. 

Several  hours  passed,  and  Zac  watched  patiently. 
He  had  not  the  heart  to  rouse  her,  unless  compelled 
by  absolute  necessity.  In  this  case,  hoAvever,  no 
necessity   arose,   and   he   left   her   to   wake    herself. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


2no 


mc<l 
:  ho 


no 


When  at  longtii  Margot  awoko,  llio  siin  was  liigli  in 
the  heavens,  and  Zac  only  smiled  pleasantly  wlien  she 
reproached  him  i'or  not  waking  her  before. 

"  0,  no  harm ;  no  'easion  has  ri/,  an'  so  you  were 
better  havin'  your  nap.  You'll  be  all  the  ablei-  to  (\o 
what  you  may  liev  yet  before  you.  An'  now,  little 
un,  if  you're  agreed,  we'll  hev  a  bite  o'  breakfast." 

A  short  breakfast,  con.^)osed  of  hard  biscuit  and 
ham,  washed  down  with  cool  water  from  a  neiglibor- 
ing  brook,  served  to  fortify  both  for  the  duties  that 
lay  before  them:  and  after  this  Zac  proposed  an  im- 
mediate start. 

He  led  the  way  along  the  bank  of  the  creek,  and 
Margot  followed  They  walked  here  \\)y  about  two 
miles,  until  at  length  they  came  in  sight  of  a  small 
harbor,  into  which  the  creek  ran.  In  the  distance  was 
the  sea;  nearer  was  a  headland. 

"  This  here's  the  place,  the  i-dentical  place,"  said 
Zac,  in  joyous  tones.  "  I  knowed  it ;  I  was  sure  of  it. 
Come  along,  little  un.  We  ain't  got  much  further  to 
go  —  only  to  that  thar  headland;  and  then,  ef  I  ain't 
mistook,  we'll  find  the  end  to  our  tramp." 

With  these  cheering  words  he  led  the  wav  alone- 
the  shore,  until  at  last  they  reached  the  headland.  It 
was  rocky  and  bare  of  trees.  Up  this  Zac  ran,  followed 
by  Margot,  and  soon  reached  the  top. 

"  All  right !  "  he  cried.  ''  See  thar  !  "  and  he  pointed 
out  to  the  sea. 

Margot  had  already  seen  it :  it  was  the  schooner, 
lying  there  at  anchor. 

"'  Eet  ees  de  sheep,"  said  Margot,  joyously ;  ''  but 
how  sail  we  geet  to  her?" 

"  O,  they're  on  the  lookout,"  said  Zac.  "  I'll  give 
signals." 


240 


THE  LILY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


lii; 


f':;f' 


The  acboonor  was  not  mnro  tlian  n  quarter  of  a  milo 
off.  Zac  and  Margot  were  on  the  hare  headland,  and 
could  easily  be  seen.  On  l)()ard  tlie  scliooner  figures 
were  moving  up  and  down.  Zac  looked  for  a  few  mo- 
ments, as  if  to  see  whetlier  it  was  all  riglit,  and  then 
gave  a  peculiar  cry,  something  like  the  cawing  of  a 
crow,  wliicli  he  repeated  three  times.  The  sound  was 
evidently  heard,  for  at  once  tliere  was  a  movement 
on  board.  Zac  waved  his  hat.  Tlion  the  movement 
stopped,  and  a  boat  sliot  out  from  the  schooner,  with 
a  man  in  it,  who  rowed  towards  the  headland.  He 
soon  came  near  enough  to  be  recognized.  It  was 
Terry.  Zac  and  Margot  hurried  to  tlie  shore  to 
meet  it,  and  in  a  short  time  both  were  on  board  the 
Parson. 

Great  was  the  joy  that  was  evinced  by  Terry  at 
the  return  of  his  captain.  He  had  a  liost  of  questions 
to  ask  about  his  adventures,  and  reproached  Zac  over 
and  over  for  not  allowing  him  to  go  also.  Jericho 
showed  equal  feeling,  but  in  a  more  empliatic  form, 
since  it  was  evinced  in  tlie  shape  of  a  substantial 
meal,  which  was  most  welcome  to  Zac,  and  to  Margot 
also.  As  for  Biler,  he  said  not  a  word,  but  stood  witli 
his  melancholv  face  turned  towards  lu"s  master,  and 
his  jaws  moving  as  though  engaged  in  devouring 
something. 

"  Sure,  an'  it's  glad  I  am,"  said  Terry,  "  for  it's  not 
comfortable  I've  been — so  it  ain't.  I  don't  like  bein' 
shut  up  here,  at  all,  at  all.  So  we'll  just  up  sail,  cap- 
tain dear,  an'  be  off  out  of  this." 

"  0,  no,"  said  Zac ;  "  we've  got  to  wait  for  the 
others." 

"Wait  — is  it?"  said  Terry. 


h 


ii 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


241 


a  milo 
id,  and 
figures 
3W  mo- 
d  then 
g  of  a 
nd  was 
vemciit 
vemeiil 
3r,  with 
d.     Ho 
It  was 
hore   to 
ard  the 

rerry  at 
ucstions 
^ac  over 

Jericho 
ic  form, 
bstantial 

Margot 
Dod  witli 
^ter,  and 
Dvouring 

•  it's  not 
like  bein' 
sail,  cap- 

,  for   the 


«  Yes." 

"  Sure,  thin,  an'  tlicre'a  a  sail  out  beyant.  Ye  can't 
Bee  it  now,  l)ut  ye'U  see  it  soon,  for  it's  been  batin'  up 
to  tlie  land  all  tlie  mornin'." 

"  A  sail !  "  exclaimed  Zac. 

"  Yis ;  an'  it's  a  Frinchman  —  so  it  is  ;  an'  ])ig  enougli 
for  a  dozen  of  tlie  likes  of  us." 

Further  inquiry  elicited  the  startling  information 
that  early  in  the  morning  Terry  had  seen,  far  away 
in  the  horizon,  a  largo  sliip,  wliich  liad  passed  back- 
ward and  forward  while  beating  up  towards  tlio  laml 
against  a  liead  wind,  and  was  just  now  concealed  be- 
hind a  promontory  on  the  soutli.  At  this  Zac  felt 
that  his  situation  was  a  serious  one,  and  he  had  to 
decide  what  to  do.  To  hoist  sail  and  venture  forth 
to  sea  would  be  to  discover  himself,  and  lay  himself 
open  to  certain  capture ;  wliile  to  remain  wliere  ho 
was  gave  liim  tlie  cliance  of  being  overlooked.  So  he 
decided  to  remain,  and  trust  to  luck.  Once,  indeed,  lie 
thought  of  going  asliore  once  more,  but  this  thouglit 
was  at  once  dismissed.  On  sliore  he  would  be  lost. 
The  woods  were  full  of  his  enemies,  and  he  could 
hardly  hope  to  reacli  any  Englisli  settlement.  To 
himself  alone  tlie  chance  was  but  slight,  while  for 
]\Iargot  it  was  impossible.  To  leave  lier  now  was  not 
to  be  thought  of,  and  besides,  the  schooner  was  the 
only  hope  for  Chiude,  wlio  might  still  be  in  the  neigh- 
l)or]iood.  The  consequence  was,  that  Zac  decided  to 
do  nothing  but  remain  here  and  meet  his  fate,  what- 
ever that  might  be. 

Scarcely  had  lie  come  to  this  decision,  wlien  a  sight 
met  his  eyes  out  beyond  the  southern  promontory, 
where  his  gaze  had  been  turned.  There,  moving 
16 


U\ 


)  ' 


242 


T///:  T.TLY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


majostioally  mIoii^  tlio  soa,  lio  saw  a  lar^o  fripito.  Tt 
was  not  more  than  a  niilo  away.  For  about  a  ([uartor 
of  an  lioui'  the  ship  sailcMl  alonj:;,  and  Za(.*  was  just 
beginning  to  liope  that  lie  had  not  l)een  seen,  wlmn 
suddenly  she  came  to,  and  a  boat  was  lowered. 

"  She  sees  ns  !  "  said  Terry. 

Zac  made  no  reply. 

Yes;  there  was  no  doubt  of  it.  They  had  been 
Reen.  Those  on  board  the  sliip  liad  been  keeping  a 
sharj)  lookout,  and  had  detected  the  outline  ot"  the 
schooner  sharply  delined  against  th(>  liglit  limestone 
rock  of  the  headland  near  which  siic  lay.  To  escape 
was  not  to  be  thouglit  of.  The  boat  was  coming 
towards  them,  filled  with  armed  men.  Zac  stood 
quite  overwhelmed  \\A\\\  dejection;  and  thus  he  stood 
as  the  Parson  was  boarded  and  seized  Ity  the  lieuten- 

ft.' 

ant  of  his  French  majesty's  Vengeur,  wlio  took  posses- 
sion of  her  in  the  name  of  ]u"s  king. 

No  sooner  had  Zac  found  himself  in  tlie  power  of 
the  enemy,  than  a  remarkable  change  took  place  in 
the  respective  positions  of  liimself  and  Margot  with 
regard  to  one  another.  Thus  far  he  had  been  her 
protector;  but  now  slie  became  his.  The  first  words 
that  she  spoke  to  the  lieutenant  served  to  conciliate 
his  favor,  and  secure  very  respectful  treatment  for 
Zac,  and  seemed  to  convey  such  important  hitelli- 
gence  that  he  concluded  at  once  to  transfer  Margot 
to  the  Vengeur,  where  she  could  tell  her  story  to  the 
captain. 

"  Adieu,"  said  she.  "  We  sail  soon  see  again.  Do 
not  fear.     I  make  zem  let  you  go." 

"  Wal,  little  un,  I'll  try  an'  hope.  But,  mind, 
unless  I  get  you,  1  don't  much  mind  what  becomes 
o'  me." 


A    TALK   OF  At  A  J)/ A. 


243 


;ato.    Tt 
quart  or 

,'iirt  just 
n,  wlicni 


id  been 

'C])iu}ji;  ii 
»  of  the 
niestoiio 
I)  escape 

coniin^' 
ic  stood 
lie  stood 

lieuten- 

X  pOSSOB- 

3ower  of 
place  iu 
got  with 
joen  her 
:st  words 
conciliate 
ment  ft)r 
it  hitelli- 
r  Margot 
)ry  to  the 


i-am. 


Do 


ut,   mind, 
becomes 


Margot,  on  l)eing  taken  on  ])oard  the  Vengour,  was 
at  once   examined  hy  tlu^   (•nj)tiiin  —  the  Vicomte  do 
Brissae,   who    found    her    statement    must    important. 
She   contented    hers(df  witli   tellini^    everNthiiin-    that 
was  essential,  and   did  not  tliink    it   at   all   iie'cessajv 
for   her   to   state   that   Zae    had   ali'eady    hccn    in    the 
hands  of  French  captors,  and   had   elfected  an  escj^x'. 
She  announced  herself  as   the   maid  of  the   Countess 
Lahorde,  who  ha<l  accompanied  her  father  in  the  ship 
Arethuse.     ^\\(i  narrated  the  shipwreck,  and  the  rescue 
by   Zac  and  the  young  Count  de   Montrcsoi-,  the   en- 
counter with  the  Aigle,  and  the   snl>sc([U('iit  ari'est  of 
Claude.     She   Uicntioned   the   (h^dh   of   Lahoi-de,  and 
the  journey  to  Jjouishourg  hy  land,  with  the   escape 
and  pursuit  of  Claude,  the   fight   with   Cazeneaii,  and 
liis  sul)se([uent  arrival.     She  tiieii  dcscrihed  their  es- 
cape, their  pursuit  and  separation,  down  to  the  time 
of  speaking.     She   aflirmed   that  Zac   had  come   here 
from  Minas  Basin  to  save  his  iVieiid,  and  was  awaitinjj: 
his  arrival  wlien  the  Vengeur  appeared. 

The  captain  listened  with  the  most  anxious  attention 
to  every  word;  questioned  her  most  minutely  about 
the  reasons  why  Cazeneau  had  arrested  Claude,  and 
also  about  his  designs  on  Loiiishourg.  Margot  an- 
swered everything  most  frankly,  and  was  able  to  tell 
him  the  truth,  inasnnich  as  she  had  enjoyed  very  much 
of  the  confidence  of  Mimi,  and  had  learned  from  iier 
about  Cazeneau's  plans.  Captain  de  Brissac  showed 
no  emotion  of  any  kind,  whether  of  sympathy  or  in- 
dignation ;  but  Margot  fc  -uied  a  very  favorable  esti- 
mate of  his  character  from  his  face,  and  could  not 
help  believing  that  she  had  won  him  over  as  an  ally. 
She  ?ould  see  that  her  story  had  produced  a  most  pro- 
found impression. 


M 


I  ■  '[ 


244 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS, 


'if 


w  ' 


[  , 


I'l  '  ^"l^ 


Captain  dc  Brissac  was  anxious  to  know  what  had 
been  tlie  fate  of  the  otlier  fugitives,  especially  of 
Claude  and  Minii ;  but  of  this  Margot  could,  of  course, 
give  no  information.  When  she  had  last  seen  tlieni 
ihey  were  flying  to  the  woods,  and  she  could  only 
hope  that  they  had  been  sufficiently  fortunate  to  get 
under  cover  before  the  arrival  of  the  enemy. 

Captain  de  Brissac  then  sent  a  crew  aboard  the 
Parson,  and  ordered  them  to  follow  tlie  Vengeur  to 
ijouisbourg.  Upon  this  new  crew  Terry  looked  with 
careful  scrutiny. 

"  Whisper,  captain  dear,"  said  he,  as  he  drew  up 
to  tlie  meditative  Zac.  *'  Here's  another  lot  o'  Frinch- 
men.  Is  it  afther  thrying  agin  that  ye  are,  to  g'vc 
'em  the  slip?" 

Zac  drew  a  long  breath,  and  looked  with  a  mel- 
ancholy face  at  the  Vengeur,  which  was  shaking 
out  her  sails,  and  heading  east  for  Louisbourg.  On 
the  stern  he  could  see  a  female  figure.  He  could 
not  recognize  the  face,  but  he  felt  sure  that  it  was 
Margot. 

"  Wal,"  said  he,  "  I  guess  we'd  better  wait  a  while 
fust,  and  see  how  things  turn  out.  The  little  un's 
oncommou  spry,  an'  may  give  us  a  lift  somehow." 


-  T>*'"  "  '^  ■"    f  ■ 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


245 


hat  had 
;ially  of 
f  course, 
en  them 
uhl  only 
to  to  get 

oard  the 
ngeur  to 
ked  with 

drew  up 
y  Frinch- 
e,  to  g've 

til  a  mel- 
,  shaking 
)urg.  On 
He  could 
lat  it  was 

lit  a  while 
little  un's 
how." 


CHAPTER  XXV. 


THE   COURT   MARTIAL. 


(CLAUDE  was  treated  ronglily,  bound,  and  sent  for- 
J  ward  on  foot;  but  the  representations  of  Pere 
Michel  secured  better  treatment  for  ^W\\\\.  A  litter 
was  made  for  her,  and  on  tliis  she  was  carried.  As 
for  Pere  Michel  himself,  lie,  too,  was  conducted  back 
as  a  prisoner ;  but  the  respect  of  the  commander  (jf  the 
soldiers  for  the  venerable  priest  caused  him  to  leave 
his  hands  unbound.  After  a  weary  tramp  they  readied 
Louisbourg.  Cazeneau  was  at  the  gate,  and  greeted 
them  with  a  sinister  smile.  Mimi,  utterly  worn  out, 
both  by  fatigue  and  grief,  took  no  notice  of  him,  nor 
did  she  hear  what  he  said. 

"  Take  the  Countess  de  Laborde  to  tlie  Residency." 

"  Pardon,"  said  the  priest ;  "  tliat  lady  is  now  the 
Countess  de  Montresor." 

At  this  Cazeneau  turned  upon  him  in  fury. 

"  Traitor  !  "  he  hissed  ;  '^  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  that  I  married  her  to  the  Count  de  Mon- 
tresor  last  night." 

"  It's  a  lie  !    It's  a  lie  !  " 

"There  are  witnesses,"  said  Pr      Michel,"  who  can 
prove  it." 

"  It's  a  lie,"  said  Cazeneau  ;  ''  but  even  if  it  is  true, 
it  won't  help  her.     She'll  be  a  widow  before  two  days. 


i    It  ' 


i\B 


t       : 


!! 


^I''i 


r 

i( 

1  ; 
'  '   '  -'111 

mil    ~~  '" 

lil 

1 

1 

1 

246 


T//E  LILY  AND  THE   CROSS. 


And  as  for  yon,  yon  villain  and  traitor,  yon  shall  bit- 
terly repent  yonr  part  in  last  night's  work." 

Pere  Micliel  slirnggod  his  slionlders,  and  tnrned 
away.  This  act  seemed  to  madden  Cazeneaii  still 
more. 

"Why  did  yon  not  hind  this  fellow?"  he  cried, 
turning  to  tlie  commander  of  tlie  detachment. 

'■'  Yonr  excellency,  I  had  his  parole.'' 

''  A  curse  on  his  parole  !  Take  him  to  the  prison 
with  Metier,  and  bind  him  like  the  otlier." 

Upon  this,  Mimi  was  taken  to  tlie  Residency,  and 
Claude  and  Pere  Michel  were  conducted  to  prison, 
where  both  of  them  were  confined.  Cazeneau  himself 
then  returned  to  the  Residency.  Tlie  ex-connnandant, 
Florian,  was  at  the  door.  He  saw  tlie  whole  proceed- 
ing, but  showed  no  particular  emotion. 

Cazeneau  regarded  him  coldly,  and  Florian  returned 
his  gaze  with  haughty  indifference. 

"  Your  plans  have  not  succeeded  very  well,  you  see, 
monsieur,"  said  Cazeneau. 

"  It  is  not  time  enough  yet  to  decide,"  said  Florian. 

"To-morrow  will  decide." 

"  1  think  not.  You  will  find,  Monsieur  le  Com- 
mandant, that  there  is  public  opinion,  even  in  Louis- 
bourg,  which  cannot  be  despised." 

"  Public  opinion  wdiich  favors  traitors  may  safely  be 
despised." 

"True,"  said  Florian;  and  with  these  words  the 
two  parted. 

The  following  day  came.  A  court  martial  had  been 
called  to  sit  at  two  in  the  afternoon.  At  that  hour  the 
session  was  opened  by  Cazeneau.  The  chief  officers 
of  the  garrison  -were  present.  With  them  came 
Florian. 


'•T 


'W^ 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


247 


lall  bit- 
turned 
liiu  still 

3   cried, 


)  prison 

ncv,  and 
prison, 
I  liiniself 
nandant, 
proceed- 

rcturned 

you  see, 

Florian. 

le  Com- 
in  Louis- 

salely  be 

I'ords  tlio 

had  been 
,t  hour  the 
ef  officers 
em    came 


"I  am  sorry,  monsieur,"  said  Cazeneau,  "that  I 
cannot  invite  you  to  a  seat  in  this  court." 

"  By  virtue  of  my  military  rank,"  said  Florian,  "  I 
claim  a  seat  here,  if  not  as  judge,  at  least  as  spectator. 
I  have  come  to  see  that  the  Count  de  Montresor  has 
justice." 

"There  is  no  such  person.  We  are  to  try  one 
Metier." 

"  It  can  be  proved,"  said  Florian,  "  that  he  is  tlie 
Count  de  Montresor.  You  yourself  arrested  him  first 
as  such." 

"  I  was  mistaken,"  said  Cazeneau. 

"  As  a  peer  of  France,  he  can  appeal  to  the  king ; 
and  this  court  has  no  final  jurisdiction.  I  call  all 
present  to  witness  this.  If  my  warning  is  neglected 
here,  it  will  be  felt  in  a  higher  (piarter.  Recollect, 
monsieur,  that  I  shall  soon  be  able  to  report  to  his 
majesty  himself.  I  flatter  myself  tliat  my  influence  at 
court  just  now  is  not  inferior  to  that  of  the  Count  de 
Cazeneau." 

"  Perhaps,  monsieur,"  said  Cazeneau,  with  a  sneer, 
"  you  would  wisli  to  be  commandant  a  little  longer." 

"All  present,"  said  Florian, "  have  heard  my  words. 
Let  tliem  remember  that  tlie  prisoner  is  undoubtedly 
the  Count  de  Montresor,  a  peer  of  France.  Witnesses 
can  be  produced;  among  others,  the  Countess  do 
Montresor." 

"  There  is  no  such  person,"  said  Cazeneau,  angrily. 
"  That  lady  is  the  Countess  de  Laborde." 

"  She  was  married  two  nights  since.  All  present 
may  take  warning  by  what  I  have  announced.  I  will 
say  no  more." 

The  words  of  Florian  had  made  a  profound  impres- 


248 


THE  LILY  AXD    THE   CROSS. 


% 


,  I 


i 

'|!i 

r 

]'■' 

l. 

sion.  Tt  WHS  no  liglit  tiling  for  a  colonial  court  martial 
to  deal  with  a  peer  oi"  France.  Besides,  Florian  him- 
self would  soon  be  at  court,  and  could  tell  his  own 
story.  Cazeneau  saw  that  a  limit  would  be  placed  to 
his  jKJwer  if  he  did  not  manage  carefully.  He  de(uded 
to  act  less  harshly,  and  with  more  cunning.  He  there- 
fore assumed  a  milder  tone,  assured  the  court  that 
Florian  was  mistaken,  disclaimed  any  personal  feeling, 
and  finally  invited  Florian  to  sit  among  the  judges. 
Upon  this  Florian  took  his  seat.  The  prisoner  was 
now  brought  forward,  and  the  witnesses  prepared. 

The  charges  were  then  read.  These  were  to  the 
effect  that  he  had  been  captured  while  coming  to 
Louisbourg  under  a  suspicious  character,  calling  him- 
self Metier,  but  pretending  to  be  the  son  of  the  out- 
lawed De  Montresor ;  that  afterwards  he  had  escaped 
from  confinement,  and  followed  Cazeneau,  upon  whom 
he  had  made  a  murderous  attack. 

Claude  was  then  questioned.  He  told  his  story 
fully  and  frankly  as  has  already  been  stated.  After  a 
severe  questioning,  he  was  allowed  to  sit  down,  and 
Pere  Michel  was  then  summoned. 

Pore  Michel  was  first  asked  what  he  knew  about 
the  prisoner.     The  priest  answered,  simply,  — 

"  Everything." 

''  What  do  you  mean  ?  Go  on  and  tell  what  you 
know  about  him." 

Pore  Michel  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then,  look- 
ing at  Claude,  with  a  face  expressive  of  the  deepest 
emotion,  he  said  in  a  low  voice,  — 

"  He  is  my  son." 

At  this  declaration  amazement  filled  all  present. 
Claude  was  affected  most  of  all.     He  started  to  his 


martial 
m  hira- 
lis  own 
icerl  to 
[lecided 
e  tlicre- 
irt  that 
feeling, 

judges. 
)ner  was 
ircd. 
3  to  tlie 
ining  to 
ing  liim- 
tlio  out- 

escaped 
on  whom 

lis  story 
After  a 
own,  and 

ew  about 


what  you 

ihen,  look- 
e  deepest 


1   present, 
ted  to  his 


r  ■'. 


W     ! 


!<: 


i 


(': 


h    ! 


i    :■ 


l' 


•  •     •••.*■  JW^IM 


iwr- 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


249 


feet,  and  stood  gazing  at  P^re  Michel  with  wonder 
and  incredulity. 

"  I  don't  understand/'  said  Cazeneau  ;  '^  at  any  rate, 
this  shows  that  he  is  a  low-born  adventurer." 

At  this  Pere  Michel  turned  to  Cazeneau,  and  said,  — 

"  He  is  my  son,  yet  neither  low-born  nor  an  adv^en- 
turer.  Do  you  not  know  —  you  —  who  1  am?  0['ten 
have  we  seen  one  another  face  to  face  within  tlio  last 
few  weeks ;  and  yet  you  have  not  recognized  me  ! 
What !  have  I  so  changed  tliat  not  a  trace  of  my  former 
self  is  visible  ?  Yet  what  I  Avas  once  you  see  now  in 
my  son,  whom  you  best  know  to  be  wliat  he  claims. 
Yes,  gentlemen,  I  am  Eugene,  Count  do  Montresor, 
and  this  is  my  son  Claude.  —  Come,  Claude,"  he  con- 
tinued, "  come,  my  son,  to  him  who  has  so  oi'ten 
yearned  to  take  you  to  a  fatlier's  embrace.  I  hoped 
to  defer  this  declaration  until  my  name  should  be  freed 
from  dishonor ;  but  in  such  an  hour  as  this  I  can  keep 
silent  no  longer.  Yet  you  know,  my  son,  tliat  the  dis- 
honor is  not  real,  and  that  in  the  eyes  of  Heaven  your 
father's  name  is  pure  and  unsullied." 

As  he  said  these  words,  lie  moved  towards  Claude. 
The  young  man  stood,  as  pale  as  death,  and  trembling 
from  head  to  foot  with  excessive  agitation.  He  ihmg 
himself,  with  a  low  cry,  into  his  lather's  arms,  and 
leaned  his  head  upon  his  breast,  and  wept.  The 
whole  court  was  overcome  by  this  spectacle.  There 
seemed  something  sacred  in  tliis  strange  meeting  of 
those  so  near,  wlio  for  a  lifi^timc  had  boon  separated, 
and  had  at  lengtli  been  brouglit  together  so  wonder- 
fully. The  silence  was  oppressive  to  Cazeneau,  who 
now  felt  as  though  all  his  power  was  slipping  away. 
It  was  broken  at  last  by  his  harsh  voice. 


v» 


;!     i 


(  . 


I'    '     ) 

i.    M 


; ,! 


Kli 


u 


250 


T///i    LILY  AXD    THE   CROSS. 


"It's  false,"  lie  s}ii<l.  "The  Coimt  de  Montresor 
has  been  dead  for  years.  It  is  a  piece  of  acting  tliat 
may  do  for  the  Theatre  Fran(;ais,  but  is  ;il)surd  to 
sensible  men.  Gentlemen,  tliese  two  concocted  tliis 
whole  plan  last  niglit  when  together  in  their  cell.  I 
once  knew  old  Montresor  well,  and  tliis  priest  has  not 
a  feature  in  common  with  him." 

The  Count  de  Montresor  turned  from  his  son,  and 
faced  the  court. 

"  Cazeneau,"  said  he,  witli  scornful  emphasis,  "  now 
commandant  of  Louisbourg,  once  equerry  to  tlie  Count 
de  Laborde,  you  never  knew  me  but  at  a  distance, 
and  as  your  superior.  ]]ut  Florian,  liere,  remembers 
me,  and  can  testify  to  my  truth.  'J\)  this  court  I  iiave 
only  to  say  tliat  I  fled  to  this  country  i'rom  the  result 
of  a  plot  contrived  by  this  vilhiin  ;  tliat  on  the  deatli 
of  my  beloved  wife  I  committed  my  infant  son  to  the 
care  of  my  faithful  valet,  —  Motier,  —  and  became  a 
missionary  priest.  For  twenty  years,  nearly,  I  have 
labored  here  among  the  Acadians  and  Indians.  This 
year  I  went  to  New  England  in  search  of  miotic r.  I 
had  already  been  carrying  on  correspondence  Avith 
friends  in  France,  who  held  out  hopes  that  my  wrongs 
would  be  righted,  and  my  name  saved  from  dislionor. 
I  did  not  wisli  to  make  myself  known  to  my  son  till  1 
could  give  him  an  unsullied  name.  I  found  ]\Iotier 
dead,  and  learned  that  my  son  was  going  to  Louis- 
bourg,  en  route  to  France.  I  asked  for  a  passage,  and 
was  thus  able  to  be  near  my  son,  and  study  his  char- 
acter. It  was  I  who  saved  him  from  prison  at  (J rand 
Pre  ;  it  was  I  wdio  heard  the  last  words  of  my  former 
enemy,  Laborde  ;  it  was  I  wlio  saved  my  son,  two 
nights  since,  from  prison.     lie  is   guilty  of  nothing. 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


251 


itrcsor 
g  tliat 
ird  to 
(1  tliis 
•cU.     1 

ilrf    lK)t 

1)11,  and 

''  now 

0  ('oiint 
istaiicc, 
,einl)ors 
t  1  have 
2  result 
e  death 

1  to  the 
3canie  a 
,  1  have 
s.  This 
3tier.  T 
ice  witli 
'  wrongs 
lirihonor. 
;on  till  I 
1  ^lotier 
c)  Louis- 
lage,  and 
lis  char- 
it  C J  rand 
y  former r 
son,  two 
nothing. 


If  any  one  is  guilty,  that  one  am  I  alone.  I  ask,  then, 
that  I  be  considered  as  a  prisoner,  and  that  this  inno- 
cent young  man  be  set  free.  ]>ut  as  a  peer  of  France, 
I  claim  to  be  sent  to  France,  where  I  can  be  tried  by 
my  peers,  since  this  court  is  one  that  can  have  no 
jurisdiction  over  one  of  my  rank." 

Here  the  Count  de  Montresor  ceased,  and  turning 
to  his  son,  stood  conversing  with  him  in  alow  whis[)cr. 

"  Every  word  is  true,"  said  Florian.  "  1  asseit  that 
Pere  Michel  is  the  Count  de  Montresor.  I  had  noticed 
the  likeness  formerly;  but,  as  1  believed  tlie  count  to 
be  dead,  I  thought  it  only  accidental,  until  a  few  days 
ago,  when  he  revealed  the  truth  to  me.  1  recognized 
him  by  facts  and  statements  which  he  made,  lie  has 
changed  greatly  since  the  old  days,  yet  not  beyond 
recognition  by  a  friend.  This  being  the  case,  then, 
we  have  nothing  to  do,  except  to  send  him  to  France 
by  the  next  ship.  As  to  the  young  count,  his  son,  I 
cannot  see  that  we  have  any  charge  against  him 
whatever." 

All  present,  with  one  exception,  had  been  profoundly 
moved  by  the  meeting  between  father  and  son,  nor 
had  they  been  much  less  deeply  moved  by  the  words 
of  the  old  count,  which,  though  somewhat  incoherent, 
had  been  spoken  with  impressiveness  and  dignity. 
The  announcement  of  his  lofty  rank ;  the  remembrance 
of  his  misfortunes,  of  which  most  present  had  heard, 
and  which  were  universally  believed  to  be  unmerited  ; 
the  assertion  that  Cazeneau  had  been  the  arch  villain 
and  plotter,  —  all  combined  to  increase  the  common 
feeling  of  sympatliy  for  the  two  before  them.  This 
feeling  was  deepened  by  Florian's  words.  His  influ- 
ence, but  recently  so  strong,  had  not  yet  passed  away. 


v'c: 


I 


I 


I, 


i  I    ill 


:i 


i 

(I- 

' 

,      V  ■: 

'■■,y 

?  ;  .j| 

\ 

t  '^  iJ 

111 

i 

A 


'.  i 


252 


T//E  LILY  AND   THE  CROSS. 


The  new  commandant,  even  under  ordinary  circum- 
stances, would  have  been  unpopular;  but  on  the 
present  occasion  he  was  detested.  The  feehng,  there- 
fore, was  general  that  nothing  ought  to  be  done  ;  and 
Cazeneau,  his  heart  full  of  vengeance,  found  himself 
well  nigh  powerless.  But  he  was  not  a  man  wlio 
could  readily  give  up  the  purpose  of  his  heart ;  and 
therefore  he  quickly  seized  the  only  resource  left  him. 

"  Gentlemen,"  said  he,  "  we  must  not  allow  ourselves 
to  be  influenced  by  purely  sentimental  considerations. 
I  believe  that  this  priest  speaks  falsely,  and  tliat  he 
has  imposed  upon  the  sympathies  of  M.  de  Florian. 
Besides,  he  is  an  outlaw  and  a  criminal  in  the  eyes  of 
French  justice.  As  to  the  young  man,  whom  he  calls 
his  son,  there  is  the  charge  of  a  murderous  assault 
upon  me,  the  commandant  of  Louisbourg.  This  must 
be  investigated.  But  in  the  present  state  of  mind  of 
those  present,  I  despair  of  conducting  any  important 
trial,  and  I  therefore  declare  this  court  adjourned 
until  further  notice.  Guards,  remove  these  two  pris- 
oners, and  this  time  place  them  in  separate  cells,  where 
they  can  no  longer  have  communication  with  each 
other." 

To  this  no  one  raised  any  objection.  As  command- 
ant, Cazeneau  had  the  right  to  adjourn  ;  and,  of  course, 
until  some  actual  decision  had  been  reached,  he  could 
dispose  of  them  as  he  saw  fit.  They  could  only  bring 
a  moral  pressure  to  bear,  at  least  for  the  present. 
Father  and  son  were  therefore  taken  back  to  their 
prison,  and  Cazeneau  quitted  the  court,  to  take  coun- 
sel with  himself  as  to  his  future  course.  He  hoped 
yet  to  have  the  game  in  his  own  hands.  He  saw  that 
until  Florian  was  gone  it  would  be  difficult,  but  after 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


253 


that  ho  might  manage  to  control  tlio  opinions  of  tlio 
majority  of  the  officers.  Fiorian,  however,  could  not 
go  until  the  r.ext  ship  should  arrive,  and  he  now 
awaited  its  coming  with  curiosity  and  eagerness. 

He  did  not  have  to  wait  very  long. 

The  court  broke  up,  and  the  ollicers  talked  ov(M-  the 
matter  among  themselves.  Fiorian  was  now  (piite  com- 
municative, and  told  them  all  ahout  the  early  career 
of  Montresor,  and  his  misfortunes.  Cazeneau  was  the 
evil  cause  of  all;  and  Fiorian  was  bitter  and  uns[)aring 
in  his  denunciations  of  this  man's  villany.  lie  took 
care  to  remind  them  that  Mimi,  thougii  the  wife  of 
Claude,  was  still  held  by  him  under  the  pretence  that 
she  was  his  ward,  and  tliat  Cazeneau,  being  tlie  crea- 
ture of  the  defunct  ministry  of  the  late  Fleury,  could 
not  bo  kept  long  in  his  present  office  by  the  iiostilo 
ministry  which  had  succeeded.  He  also  assured  them 
that  the  Montresors  had  J"riends  among  those  now  in 
power,  and  that  the  old  count  was  anxiously  awaiting 
the  arrival  of  the  next  ship,  in  the  confident  hope  that 
justice  would  at  last  be  done  to  him. 

By  these  words,  and  by  this  information  about 
things  unknown  to  Cazeneau,  Fiorian  deepened  tlie 
impression  which  had  been  made  by  the  events  of 
the  trial.  All  were  desirous  that  the  Montres(jrs 
should  at  last  escape  from  the  macliinations  of  Caze- 
neau. All  looked  for  the  speedy  recall  and  disgrace 
of  Cazeneau  himself,  and  therefore  no  one  was  in- 
clined to  sacrifice  his  feelings  or  convictions  for  the 
purpose  of  gaining  favor  with  one  wliose  stay  was  to 
be  merely  temporary. 

While  they  were  yet  gathered  together  discussing 
these  things,  they  were  disturbed  by  the  report  of  a 


254 


THE  LIT  A'  AX  I)    THE   CROSS. 


gun.    Another  followed,  Jiiid  yc3t  another.    All  of  theni    • 
hurried  to  the   signal   station,  from  which  a  view  of 
the  harbor  was  connnanded. 

There  a  noble  siglit  appeared  before  their  eyes. 
With  all  sail  set,  a  frigate  came  into  the  liarbor,  and 
then,  rounding  to,  swept  grandly  up  towards  tlie  town. 
Guii  after  gun  sounded,  as  the  salute  was  given  and 
returned.     After  her  came  a  schooner. 

"It's  the  Vengeur,"  said  Florian.  "I  wonder 
whether  Montresor  will  get  his  despatches.  Gentle- 
men, I  must  go  aboard." 

With  these  words  Florian  hurried  away  from  the 
citadel  to  the  shore. 


:  ! 


I' 


J;! 

1                    I 

^■%h        ^ 

\  i^'^:' 

1 

1. 1 

1 
I 

^ 


A    TALK   OF  AC  AD/ A. 


255 


CHAPTFA    XXVI. 


NEWS   FROM   HOME. 


CAZENEAU  had  lieanl  the  guns,  iind  liad  Iciirnod 
that  tho  loiig-oxpectud  IVigatc  had  arrived,  to- 
gether with  a  sehooiier  that  looked  like  a  prizt.'.  To 
him  tlie  matter  aiVorded  miieh  gratilicatioii,  since  it 
ollered  a  quick  and  easy  way  of  getting  rid  of  Florian, 
and  of  making  the  way  easier  towards  the  acet)mplish- 
ment  of  his  own  purposes.  He  did  not  know  tiiat 
Florian  had  hurried  aboard,  nor,  had  he  known,  would 
lie  have  cared.  For  his  own  part  he  remained  where 
he  was,  awaiting  the  visit  which  the  captain  of  the 
Vengeur  would  make,  to  report  his  arrival.  Alter 
more  than  two  hours  of  waiting,  it  ])egan  to  strike 
him  that  tlie  said  captain  was  somewhat  dilatory,  and 
he  began  to  meditate  a  reprimand  for  such  a  neglect 
of  his  dignity. 

All  this  time  had  been  spent  by  Florian  on  b  >ard, 
.vhere  he  had  much  to  say  to  De  Brisset,  and  nmch 
to  ask  of  him  and  also  of  Margot. 

At  length  a  boat  came  ashore.  In  the  l)oat  were 
Florian,  De  Brisset,  and  Margot.  On  lanibng,  these 
three  went  up  to  the  citadel :  and  on  their  way  De 
Brisset  was  stopped  by  several  of  the  officers,  who 
were  old  acquaintances,  and  were  anxious  to  learn 
the  latest  news.     Florian  also  had  nmch  to  tell  them 


rwff 


Ml 


!  i 


256 


THE  LILY  AND    THE   CROSS. 


1 

1^ 

% 

(.'  ' 

ti 

I 

\ 

' 

i; 

1 

I, 

f! 

11 ' 
■ 

■ 

11 

I  ' 


which  ho  had  just  learned.  While  tliey  were  talk- 
ing, Margot  hurried  to  the  ilesidency,  where  she 
found  Minii,  to  wliom  she  gave  information  of  a 
startling  kind ;  so  startling,  indeed,  was  it,  that  it 
acted  like  a  powerful  remedy,  and  roused  Mimi  from 
a  deep  stupor  of  inconsolahlo  grief  up  to  lil'e,  and  liope, 
and  joy,  and  strength. 

The  information  which  Do  Brisset  gave  the  officers 
was  of  the  same  startling  kind,  and  Florian  Avas  able 
to  corroborate  it  by  a  despatch  wliich  lie  had  re- 
ceived. The  despatch  was  to  the  elfect  that  he  — 
the  Count  de  Floriaii  —  was  hereby  reinstated  in  his 
office  as  commandant  of  Louisbourg,  and  conveyed  to 
him  the  flattering  intej^'gence  that  his  Ibrmer  admin- 
istration was  favorably  regarded  by  the  government, 
who  would  reward  him  witli  some  higlier  command. 
With  this  despatch  there  came  also  to  Florian,  as 
commandant,  a  warrant  to  arrest  Cazeneau,  tlie  late 
commandant,  on  certain  charges  of  fraud,  peculation, 
and  malversation  in  office,  under  tlio  late  ministry. 
De  Brisset  also  had  orders  to  bring  Cazeneau  back 
to  France  in  the  Vengeur.  These  documents  wero 
shown  to  the  officers,  who  were  very  earnest  in  their 
congratubitions  to  Florian. 

There  Avore  also  despatclies  to  the  Count  de  Mon- 
tresor,  the  ct)nteyts  of  which  were  kno\vn  to  De  Bris- 
set, will)  also  knew  that  he  was  now  laboring  in  the 
colonies  as  the  missionary  priest  Perc  Michel.  Flori- 
an at  once  took  these  to  the  prison  where  he  was  con- 
fined, acquainted  him  witii  the  cliangc  that  had  taken 
place,  and  set  both  him  and  Claude  free  with  his  own 
hands.     Then  he  presented  the  despatches. 

Pore  Michel,  as  we  may  still  call  him,  tore  open  the 


A   TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


257 


3  talk- 
re  she 
I  of  a 
Dliat  it 
li  from 
1  liope, 

offtcers 
as  able 
lad  re- 
b  he  — 
in  his 
3vcd  to 
admiu- 
•iiiiient, 
uiiiaiid. 
"ian,  as 
he  late 
Illation, 
inistiy. 
,u  back 
;s  were 
in  their 

le  Mon- 
)e  Bris- 
in  the 
Flori- 
^as  con- 
:l  taken 
his  own 

pen  the 


despatch  with  a  trembling  liand,  and  there  read  tliat, 
at  last,  after  so  many  years,  tlie  wrong  done  him  liad 
been  remedied,  as  far  as  possible  ;  that  all  liis  dignities 
were  restored,  togetlier  with  his  estates.  Tl)cse  last 
had  passed  to  other  hands,  but  tlie  str(tng  arm  of  tlie 
government  was  even  now  being  })iit  fortli  to  reclaim 
them,  so  that  tliey  miglit  be  rendered  l)ack  to  the 
deeply  injured  man  to  wlioni  they  rightly  belonged. 

"  There,  my  boy,"  said  Pere  Micliel,  as  lie  showed 
it  to  his  son,  "  all  is  riglit  at  last ;  and  now  you  can 
wear  your  name  and  dignity  in  the  face  of  the  world, 
and  not  be  ashamed." 

"  0,  mv  father!"  said  Claude,  in  a  voice  wliich  was 
broken  with  emotion,  ''  Heaven  knows  1  never  was 
asliamed.  I  believed  your  innocence,  and  wept  over 
your  wrongs.  I  am  glad  now,  not  for  myself,  but  for 
you." 

"Where  is  the  Countess  de  Montresor?"  said  Pcre 
Micliel.  •'  She  should  not  be  kept  in  restraint  any 
longer." 

Cazeneau  all  this  time  sat  in  his  apartment,  await- 
ing the  arrival  of  the  captain  of  the  Vengeur  and  the 
despatches.  The  captain  at  length  appeared  ;  but  with 
him  were  others,  the  sight  of  wliom  awakened  strange 
sensations  in  his  breast.  For  tliere  was  Florian,  and 
with  liim  was  Pere  Micliel;  Clauile  was  tliere  also,  and 
bevond  he  saw  some  soldiers.  Tl,e  sight  was  to  hiii' 
most  appalling,  and  something  in  the  face  and  bearing 
of  De  Brisset  and  Florian  was  more  appalling  still. 

'^  Monsieur  le  Comte  de  Cazeneau,"  said  Florian,  "I 
have  the  honor  to  preser  you  with  this  comniission, 
by  which  you  will  see  i  it  I  am  reappointed  com- 
mandant of  Louisbourg.  I  also  have  the  honor  to 
17 


rr^ 


258 


77 /E  IJLY  AND    THE  CROSS. 


1 
1 

1 
■1 

''         It 

state  tliat  T  liold  a  warrant  for  your  arrci=5t,  on  certain 
charges  specified  therein,  and  for  sending  yoxi  back 
to  France  for  trial  in  the  Vengenr,  on  her  return 
voyage," 

(^azeneaii  listened  to  tin's  witli  a  pallid  face. 

"  lnipossi])le  !  "  he  i'altered. 

"Jt's  (piite  true/'  said  De  Brisset ;  "I  also  liave 
orders  to  the  same  (dfect,  which  !  have  aire  uly  shown 
to  Monsieur  le  Coun  landant  Florian.  There  is  no  pos- 
sibility of  any  niistake,(»r  of  any  resistance.  You  will 
therefore  do  well  to  submit.'' 

Cazeneau  had  remained  seated  in  the  attitude  which 
he  had  taken  nj),  when  lie  L'X])e(;tcd  to  I'eceive  the 
respectful  greeting  of  his  subordinate.  The  news 
was  so  sudden,  and  so  appalling,  that  he  remained 
motionless.  IJe  sat  staring,  like  one  siuldenly  petri- 
fied, lie  turned  his  eyes  from  one  to  another,  ])ut 
in  all  those  IHces  he  saw  nothing  to  reassure  him.  All 
were  hostile  except  Pere  Michel,  who  alone  looked  at 
him  without  hate.  'J'he  [)i'iest  showed  the  same  mild 
serenity  which  had  always  distinguished  him.  lie 
seemed  like  one  who  had  overcome  the  world,  who 
had  conquered  worldly  ambition  and  worldly  passion, 
and  had  pass(!d  beyond  the  reach  of  revenge. 

Cazeneau  saw  this.  PTe  rose  from  his  seat,  and  fell 
at  the  feet  of  Fere  Michel. 

''  Pardon,"  he  faltered  ;  *'  Comte  de  Montresor,  do  not 
pursue  a  fallen  man  with  your  vengeance." 

At  this  unexpected  exhibition,  all  present  looked 
with  scorn.  They  had  known  Cazeneau  to  be  cruel 
and  unscrupulous ;  they  had  not  suspected  that  he  was 
cowardly  as  well.  Pere  Michel  also  preserved  an  un- 
changed demeanor. 


A    TALE  OF  ACADIA. 


259 


crtain 
])iick 
roturii 


1) 


luivo 
show  11 


no  [)()ri- 
ou  will 

J  wliicli 
ivc  tlic 
0   news 
3nuiincd 
.y  potri- 
her,  l)ut 
im.    All 
uokod  at 
me  mild 
im.     He 
)rld,  wlio 
passion, 


■) 


and  fell 


or,  do  not 

it  looked 

be  cruel 

lat  lie  was 

ed  an  un- 


"  You  are  mistaken,  Cazeneau,"  ho  said.  "  I  feel 
no  desire  for  vengeance.  I  seek  none.  Moreover,  1 
have  no  influence  or  authority.  You  must  direct  your 
prayers  elsewhere." 

Upon  tliis  tlie  wretched  man  turned  to  Florian. 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Florian,  impatiently.  "  This 
Avill  never  do.  Rise,  moiisiuur.  Remember  that  you 
are  a  Frenchman.  Bear  \\\)  like  a  man.  For  my  part, 
I  can  do  nothing  for  you,  and  have  to  obey  orders." 

Cazcneau's  break  down  was  utter,  and  eirectually  de- 
stroyed all  sympathy.  His  present  weakness  was  com- 
pared with  his  late  vindictiveness,  and  he  who  had  just 
refused  mercy  to  others  could  hardly  gain  pity  on  him- 
self. He  only  succeeded  in  utterly  disgracing  himself, 
without  inspiring  a  particle  of  commiseration.  Still 
Florian  was  not  cruel,  and  contented  himself  with 
keeping  his  prisoner  in  a  room  in  the  Residency,  satis- 
fied that  there  was  no  possibility  of  escape.  Some  of 
the  officers,  however,  were  loud  in  their  condemnation 
of  Florian's  mildness,  and  asserted  that  the  dungeon 
and  the  chains,  which  had  been  inflicted  by  him  on 
the  Montresors,  should  be  his  doom  also.  But  Florian 
thought  otherwise,  and  held  him  thus  a  prisoner  until 
the  Vengeur  returned.  Then  Cazeneau  was  sent  back 
to  be  tried  and  convicted.  His  life  was  spared ;  but 
he  was  cast  down  to  hopeless  degradation  and  want,  in 
wliicli  state  his  existence  ultimately  terminated. 

Before  the  scene  with  Cazeneau  was  over,  Claude 
had  gone  away  and  found  his  wife.  Already  Mimi's 
strength  had  begun  to  return,  and  her  new-born  hope, 
and  the  rush  of  her  great  happiness,  coming,  as  it  did, 
after  so  much  misery  and  despair,  served  to  restore 
her  rapidly. 


ill 


H''l 


r 


t 

I  i 


'  .1 

!  r 


'!  I 


)  .    r  ' 


if 


ij-     !: 


(i 


260 


TT/^*  L/LV  AND  THE  CROSS. 


"  I  should  have  died  if  this  had  lasted  one  day 
more,"  said  she. 

'^  But  now  it  is  all  over,  Mimi,  dearest,"  said  Claude, 
'•  and  you  must  live  for  me.  This  moment  repays  me 
for  all  my  sufferings." 

*^  And  for  mine,"  sighed  Mimi. 

Margot  saw  that  her  mistress  had  for  the  present  an 
attendant  wlio  was  more  serviceable  tlian  herself,  and 
now  all  her  tliouglits  turned  to  that  faithful  friend 
whom  she  liad  been  compelled  for  the  time  to  leave, 
but  whom  slie  had  not  for  one  moment  forgotten. 
She  waited  patiently  till  she  could  get  a  chance  to 
speak  to  Claude,  and  tlicn  told  him  what  he  did  not 
know  yet  —  that  Zac  was  still  a  prisoner.  At  that 
intelligence,  his  own  happiness  did  not  allow  him  to 
delay  to  serve  his  friend.  He  at  once  hurried  forth  to 
see  De  Brisset.  To  him  he  explained  Zac's  position  in 
such  forcible  language,  that  De  Brisset  at  once  issued  an 
order  for  tlie  release  of  himself  and  his  schooner,  with- 
out any  conditions,  and  the  recall  of  his  seamen.  To 
make  the  act  more  complete,  the  order  was  committed 
to  Margot,  who  was  sent  in  the  ship's  boat  to  the 
schooner. 

On  the  arrival  of  this  boat,  Zac  seemed  quite  in- 
different to  tlie  safety  of  the  scliooner,  and  only  aware 
of  the  presence  of  Margot.  lie  held  her  hand,  and 
stood  looking  at  hci*  with  moistened  eyes,  until  after 
the  seamen  of  tlie  Yengeur  had  gone.  Terry  looked 
away  ;  Jericho  vanished  below,  with  vague  plans  about 
a  great  supper.  Biler  gazed  upon  Louisbourg  with  a 
pensive  eye  and  a  half-eaten  turnip. 

"  I  knowed  you'd  be  back,  little  un,"  said  Zac  ;  "  I 
felt  it ;  an',  now  you've  come,  don't  go  away  agin." 


•Ill 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


261 


e  day 

'laiide, 

lys  nic 


?ent  an 
elf,  and 

friend 
3  leave, 
'^rotten, 
ance  to 
did  not 
At  that 
T  him  to 

forth  to 
sition  in 
ssned  an 
cr,  with- 
len.  To 
immitted 
i  to  the 

finite  in- 
ily  aware 
land,  and 
ntil  after 
ry  looked 
ans  about 
rg  with  a 

Za-;  ^'I 
agni. 


"  0,  but  I  haf  to  go  to  ze  comtesse,"  said  Margot ; 
"  zat  ees  —  to-day  —  " 

"  Go  back  to  the  countess  !  Wliy,  you  ain't  goin'  to 
give  me  up  —  air  you?"  said  Zac,  dolefully. 

"  0,  no,  not  eef  you  don't  want  me  to,"  said  Margot. 
"  But  to-day  I  moos  go  to  ze  comtesse,  an'  afterward 
you  sail  ask  her,  eef  you  want  me." 

At  this,  which  was  spoken  in  a  timid,  hesitating 
way,  Zac  took  lier  in  liis  arms,  and  gave  lier  a  tre- 
mendous smack,  wliich  Terry  tried  liard  not  to  he.ir. 

^^  Wal,"  said  he,  ''  tliar's  Pere  Michel,  that's  a  Moo- 
soo  an'  a  Roman  Catholic ;  but  he'll  do." 

"  0,  but  you  moos  not  talk  of  Pere  Michel  till  you 
see  ze  comtesse,"  said  Margot ;  "  an'  now  I  sail  tank 
you  to  take  me  back  to  her,  or  send  me  back  by  one 
of  de  men." 

Zac  did  not  send  her  back,  but  took  her  back  to  the 
shore  himself.  Then  tlie  fortifications  of  Louisl)ourg 
—  the  dread  and  bugbear  of  all  New  England  —  closed 
him  in  ;  but  Zac  noticed  nothing  of  these.  It  was  only 
Margot  whom  he  saw ;  and  he  took  her  to  the  citadel, 
to  the  Ilesidency.  On  bis  arrival,  Claude  came  forth 
to  greet  him,  with  beaming  eyes  and  open  arms.  Pere 
Michel  greeted  him,  also,  with  affectionate  cordiality. 
For  the  simple  Yankee  had  won  tlie  priest's  heart,  as 
well  on  account  of  bis  own  virtues  as  for  his  son's  sake. 
lie  also  took  enough  interest  in  him  to  note  his  deal- 
ings with  ^largot,  and  to  suggest  to  liim,  in  a  sly  way, 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  although  Zac  was  a 
bigoted  Protestant,  a  Roman  Catholic  priest  could  do 
just  as  well  as  a  Protestant  parson.  Whereupon  Zac 
went  off  with  a  broad  grin,  that  lasted  for  weeks. 

The    postponement  of  Florian's   departure    caused 


'  I 


I'l 


•M 


III 


'  I 


*  ^i 


\  i 


262 


7V//i   LILY  AXD    THE   CROSS. 


some  disappointment  to  that  wortliy  gentleman,  wliich, 
however,  was  alleviated  l>y  the  tiiought  tliat  he  liad 
been  ahle  to  l)enefit  his  injured  iriend,  and  ]>ring  a 
villain  to  punishment;  and  also  l»y  the  thought  that 
his  departure  to  France  would  not  l)e  long  delayed. 
To  those  I'riends  he  devoted  liinisell",  and  sought  hy 
every  means  in  his  power  to  make  their  recollections 
of  Louisbourg  more  })leasant  than  tliey  had  thus  i'ar 
been.  Chiude,  and  his  bride,  and  his  fatlier  were 
honored  guests  at  tlie  Residency,  where  tliey  were 
urged  to  remain  as  long  as  tliey  could  content  them- 
selves, and  until  they  could  decide  al>out  tlieir  future 
movements. 

For  now,  though  the  name  of  Montresor  had  been 
redeemed,  and  justice  had  at  last  been  done,  it  was 
not  easy  for  them  to  decide  about  their  future  move- 
ments. Pcre  Michel,  after  some  tliouglit,had  at  length 
made  up  his  mind,  and  had  given  Claude  the  benefit 
of  his  opinion  and  his  advice. 

^'  1  liave  made  up  ni-y  mind,"  said  he.  "  I  will  never 
go  back  to  France.  What  can  I  do  in  France  ?  As  a 
French  noble,  I  should  be  powerless ;  as  a  priest,  use- 
less. France  is  corrupt  to  tlie  heart's  core.  The 
government  is  corrupt.  The  wdiole  head  is  sick,  the 
whole  lieart  faint.  Ministry  succeeds  to  ministry,  not 
by  means  of  ability,  not  from  patriotism  or  a  public 
spirit,  l)ut  simply  througli  corrupt  favoritism.  There 
are  no  statesmen  in  France.  Tliey  are  all  courtiers. 
In  that  court  every  man  is  ready  to  sell  himself  for 
monev.  There  is  no  sense  of  honor.  At  the  head  of 
all  is  the  worst  of  all,  the  king  himself,  who  sets  an 
example  of  sin  and  iniquity,  which  is  iollowed  by  all 
the  nation.     The  peasantry  arc  slaves,  trodden  in  the 


A    TALE   OF  ACADIA. 


268 


n,  whicli, 
b  lie  liad 

l)riiig  51 
I  gilt  tluit 

dolaycd. 
ouglit  l.y 
olio  ct  ions 
I  thus  tiir 
her  were 
hey  were 
cut  tliem- 
eir  future 

had  been 
me,  it  was 
lire  move- 
\  at  length 
the  benefit 

;  will  never 
;ice  ?     Art  a 
priest,  use- 
core.      The 
is  sick,  the 
linistry,  not 
or  a  public 
sui.     Tliere 
U  courtiers, 
himself  for 
the  head  of 
kvho  sets  an 
[owed  by  all 
odden  in  the 


dust,  without  hope  and  without  spirit.  The  nobles 
are  obsequious  time-sL?wers  and  place-hunters.  The 
old  sentiment  of  chivalry  is  lead.  1  will  never  go  to 
such  a  country.  Here,  in  this  land,  wliore  I  have 
lived  the  best  part  of  my  life,  I  intend  to  remain,  lo 
labor  among  these  simple  Acadians,aiid  these  children 
of  the  forest,  and  to  die  among  them. 

''As  for  you,  my  son,  France  is  no  place  for  you. 
The  proper  place  for  you,  if  you  wish  to  lead  a  viiiu- 
ous  and  honorable  life,  is  among  the  people  who  looiv 
upon  you  as  one  of  themselves,  with  whom  you  have 
been  brought  up.  Your  religion,  my  son,  is  diHerent 
from  mine;  but  we  worsliij)  tlie  same  God,  believe  in 
the  same  Bible,  put  our  trust  in  the  same  Saviour,  and 
hope  for  the  same  heaven.  What  can  France  give  you 
that  can  be  equal  to  what  you  liavc^  in  New  England? 
She  can  give  you  simply  honors,  but  with  thes«)  the 
deadly  poison  of  her  own  corruption,  and  a  future  liill 
of  awful  peril.  But  in  New  England  you  have  a  virgin 
countrv.  There  all  men  are  Iree.  There  you  have 
no  nobility.  There  are  no  down-trodden  peasants, 
but  free  farmers.  Eveiy  man  has  his  own  rights,  and 
knows  how  to  maintain  them.  You  have  been  brought 
up  to  be  the  free  citizen  of  a  free  country.  Enough. 
Why  wish  to  be  a  noble  in  a  nation  of  slaves?  Take 
your  name  of  Montresor,  if  yon  wish.  It  is  yours  now, 
and  free  from  stain.  Remember,  also,  if  you  wisii,  the 
glory  of  your  ancestors,  and  let  that  memory  iiis[)ire 
you  to  noble  actions.  But  remain  in  New  Eiiglaii<l, 
and  cast  in  vour  lot  with  the  citizens  of  your  own  ^yqh, 
adopted  land." 


Such 


wei 


•e  the  words  of  the  priest,  and  Claude's 


training  had  been  vsuch  that  they  chimed  in  altogether 


Bifffsr 

l:i                  1 

!ii(. 


ii 


I 


* 


264 


THE  LILY  AND   THE   CROSS. 


witli  his  own  tastes.  Tie  did  not  fool  liimsclf  ontiroly 
capable  of  playing  the  part  of  a  noble  in  such  a  conntry 
as  that  France  which  his  father  descriljod  ;  of  associat- 
ing with  such  a  society,  or  of  courting  the  favor  of 
such  a  king.  Besides,  his  religion  was  tlio  religion 
of  his  mother:  and  her  fate  was  a  sufficient  warning. 
And  so  it  was  that  Claude  resolved  to  give  u^)  all 
thoughts  of  France,  and  return  to  the  humble  New 
England  ftxrm.  If  from  the  wreck  of  the  Montresor 
fortunes  anything  should  be  restored,  he  felt  that  he 
could  employ  it  better  in  his  own  home  than  in  the 
home  of  his  fatliers;  wliile  tlio  estate  of  Labordo, 
wliich  Mimi  would  inlierit,  would  double  his  own 
means,  and  give  him  new  resources. 

This,  then,  was  his  final  decision ;  and,  though  it 
caused  mucli  surprise  to  Florian,  he  did  not  attempt 
to  oppose  it.  Mimi  raised  no  objection.  She  had  no 
ties  in  France ;  and  wherever  her  husband  might  be 
was  welcome  to  her.  And  so  Zac  was  informed  that 
Claude  would  hire  his  schooner  once  more,  to  convey 
himself  and  his  wife  back  to  Boston,  together  with  his 
father,  who,  at  their  urgent  solicitation,  consented  to 
pay  them  a  visit. 

But  Zac  had  purposes  of  his  own,  which  had  to  be 
accomplished  before  setting  forth  on  his  return.  lie 
wished  to  secure  the  services  of  Pore  Michel,  wliich 
services  were  readily  offered;  and  Zac  and  jMargot 
were  made  one  in  the  very  chapel  which  had  wit- 
nessed the  marriao:e  of  Claude  and  Mimi. 


entirely 
L  count  ry 
fisi^ociiit- 
fiivoi'  oi" 

religion 
warning. 
ro  up  all 
il)le  New 
tlontresor 
t  that  lie 
m  ill  the 

Labor  de, 

his   own 

though  it 
t  attempt 
e  had  no 
might  be 
rmed  that 
to  convey 
r  with  his 
isented  to 

had  to  be 
turn.  Ho 
hel,  whicli 
id  ^largot 
L  had  wit- 


ELIJAH   KELLOGG' S    BOOKS. 

THE    WHISPERING    PINE; 

OR,  THE  GRADUATES  OF  RADCLIFFE. 

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•*  Under  the  •whispering  pines '  of  Bowdoin,  of  which  institu- 
tion Kellogjr  is  an  alumnus,  there  are  still  eherislied  traditions  of 
many  of  the  incidents  portrayed  in  this  volume.  Colkige  lifj,  with 
its  peculiar  trials,  joys,  perplexities,  fun,  and  sometimes  sober  ex- 
periences, is  set  forth  with  the  earnestness  and  freshness  so  charac- 
teristic of  our  old  friend."  —  Portland  Press. 


THE  TURNING  of  the  TIDE, 

OR,  RADCIIFFE  RICH  AND  IIIS  PATIENTS. 


-•O*- 


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**One  of  the  best  of  Mr.  Kellogg's  many  entertaining  and 
fiealtliy-toned  stories  for  the  youth  of  our  land.  T^.ie  boys  will  be 
glad  to  see  the  picture  of  Mr.  Kellogg  upon  tlie  title-page.  The 
face  reminded  us  of  Thad.  Stevens,  though  one  of  '  the  boys '  said 
it  looked  like  Jeff.  Davis.  But  he  wouldn't  like  to  have  Mr. 
Kellogg  h-^ar  the  remark.  The  more  the  boys  read  the  books  of 
Elijah  Kellogg,  the  better  it  will  be  for  them."  —  Cincirmati 
Daily  Timet, 


!"?V 


m 


1 


'!  !       ■ 


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THE    BOY    FARMERS 


OF     ELM     ISLAND. 


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"*The  Boy-Farmers^  did  not  liavo  just  tlio  same  experience  that 
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and  had  adventures  of  all  sorts;  not  doing  lliose  thin<:^s  in  sport, 
but  seriously  and  earnestly,  to  raise  moans,  fu'st,  to  i)ay  for  their 
island  home,  and  then  to  render  that  home  comfortable  and  attrac- 
tive." —  Lynn  Republican. 


M 


I ' 


HARDSCRABBLE 


OF    ELM    ISLAND. 


-•o»- 


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r    .. 


"  It  is  full  of  incidents  in  bear,  fox,  and  deer  Inmting,  saw-mill 
and  scow  buildinj;^,  clearins;  up  new  land,  raising  cattle  and  crops, 
and  finally  building  and  rigging  a  sloop,  so  that  the}"  obtained 
better  prices  for  their  cargo,  prosperity  for  themselves,  and  busi^ 
ness  for  the  benefit  of  the  community  in  Chicago  Corner." 


\rs. 


ELIJAH   KELLOGG' S  BOOKS, 


\S 


THE 


CHILD  of  the   ISLAND  GLEN 


:perience  that 
and  hunting, 
linj^s  in  sport, 
pay  for  tiieii* 
)le  and  atti'ae- 


.E 


iting,  saw-mill 
ittle  and  crops, 
thej^  obtained 
Ives,  and  bu9>^ 
)rner." 


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about.  He  never  mistakes  the  'poop  deck'  for  the  'spanker 
boom,'  nor  do(!S  he  order  Ills  sailors  to  lower  tlic  hatcli  over  the 
stern,  or  to  coil  tlie  keelson  in  the  forward  cal)iii.  Young  readers 
will  be  glad  to  hnd  in  it  a  shij)  anil  its  nii(hiiglit  lamp,  :ind  as  a 
matter  of  course,  the  line  captain  and  his  jolly  crew,  who  always 
accompany  every  vessel  setting  sail  in  literature."  —  Church  and 
Republic, 


THE  CRUISE  of  the  CASCO. 


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and  exciting  adventures  of  their  old  friends  in  their  life  upon  the 
ocean.  There  is  a  thrilling  interest  in  the  story,  and  the  attack, 
repulse,  and  capture  of  the  pirates,  the  unexpected  recognition  of 
old  acquaintances,  and  the  extraordinary  good  fortunes  of  the 
Cascoites.  are  told  in  the  best  possibles  manner."  —  Tvawmice  Amer. 


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THE 

MISSION  OF  BLACK  RIFLE. 


-•o»^  — 


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"The  hero,  *  Black  Rifle,'  is  a  noted  Indian  hunter,  who  devoted 
<kis  life  to  avens^e  the  cruelties  he  suffered  at  the  hands  of  savaijes 
in  his  youth.  His  miraculous  escapes,  amazinj^  exploits,  and  won- 
derful success  in  killing  Indians,  led  to  the  belief  that  he  bore  a 
cliarmad  life,  and  made  him  at  once  the  terror  of  the  red  men  and 
the  hope  and  protection  of  the  white  settlers  in  his  neighborhood. 
The  other  characters  of  the  story  are  strongly  drawn." — 'Man- 
Chester  Union. 


URYING  THE   HATCHET; 

OR,  THE  YOUNG  BRAVE  OF  THE  DELAWARE. 

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"  The  scene  of  this  stmy  is  laid  in  Pennsylvania  more  than  one 
hundred  years  ago,  when  that  part  of  the  country  was  overrun  by 
Indians  and  wild  beasts.  The  ])uilding  of  the  wind-mill,  the  saw- 
mill, the  potteiy,  the  brick-kiln,  and  the  ceiled  school-house 
brouglit  the  primitive  life  of  those  early  settlers  into  a  state  ol 
comfort  we  should  find  it  hard  to  understand,  if  the  graphic  pic- 
ture of  their  life  without  them  had  not  been  given  us.  While  the 
book  is  full  of  adventure,  it  is  not  more  so  than  a  history  of  that 
period  would  give ;  and  the  noble  qualities  of  a  simple  piety,  cour 
Ag«,  perseverance,  and  love  are  well  depicted."  —  Christian  Union 


ELIJAH   KELLOGG'S   BOOKS. 


FLE. 


THE   SPARK  OF  GENIUS; 

0B»  THE  COLLEGE  LIFE  OF  JAMES  TRAFTON. 


ho  devoted 
of  savages 
I,  Jinil  won- 
lie  bore  a 
(i  men  and 
^hborhood. 
I."  —Mail' 


ET; 


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*•  Written  in  a  very  sparlding  manner.  It  is  a  jh-rfect  peri-pic- 
ture  of  colleije  life.  Thr()U";li  the  book  von  will  lind  eacli  p;i«xe 
bubbling  over  with  a  kind  of  fun  and  quaint  jjliilosophy  which 
pleases  and  instructs,"  —  Bntnstrick  (Me.)  Orient. 

"Mr.  Kellogg's  stori(\s  are  always  full  of  exciting  in('i<l«'nts,  told 
in  a  way  that  boys,  and  often  older  people  too,  lind  very  capti- 
vating." —  Worcester  Spy. 


than  one 
i^errun  by 

the  saw- 

^ool-house 

state  ol 

[phic  pic- 

Hille  the 
|-y  of  that 

pty,  cour 
in  Union 


, 


THE  SOPHOMORES  OF  RADCLIFFE; 

OR,  JAMES  TRAFTON  AND  HIS  BOON  FRIENDS. 


-*o*- 


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-.o.- 


•^  It  treats  of  the  second  year  at  college,  with  its  trials  and  temp 
tations.  The  vacation  (;xpt!rienf'<^  of  teaching  school,  the  tritka 
and  practical  jokes,  an<l  many  otncr  interesting  episodes  in  the  Ufa 
of  a  stadept,  aie  entertiiiningly  related."  — Lowell  Vux  Pouiu*. 


^^r 


1' 


IJ   !.• 


t    -I 


('1 


,,  . 


'i 

I'i  ^ 

.' 

I ,  I . ; /I. 

fe:' 

1       ^'. 

U'     ' 

I.  k 

m  1 

P 

1 
1 

I*  ffSH 

i:  1 

I  -I    ! 

■h      ) 


ELIJAH  KELLOGG' S  BOOKS. 


LIVE  OAK   BOYS; 

OR.    THE    ADVENTURES    OF    RICHARD    CON- 
STABLE  AFLOAT   AND   ASHORE. 


-•o^ 


16mo.    Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 


-*o*- 


This  is  the  new  book  in  the  •*  Good  Old  Times  Series."  It  is  tha 
Btory  of  a  boy,  who  brought  up  under  the  stern  discipline  of  New 
England  in  the  old  time,  must  find  some  vent  for  his  surplus  vital- 
ity, and  expended  it  in  "  pranks."  as  they  were  termed.  The  recital 
of  them  will  prove  wonderfully  interesting  to  other  specimens  of  the 
same  race.  The  general  prophecy  of  his  native  village  was  that  he 
would  go  to  the  bad.  Instead,  he  went  to  sea  and  by  skilful  manage- 
ment amassed  a  fortune.  It  was  in  the  "good  old  times"  of  pri- 
vateering, and  the  book  is  replete  with  stories  of  sea-fights,  wrecks, 
and  all  the  adventures  which  capture  the  souls  of  boys.  It  has  no 
objectionable  element,  but  is  full  of  good  advice,  well  practised. 


GOOD  OLD  TIMES; 

OR,   GRANDFATHER'S    STRUGGLE    FOR    A 

HOMESTEAD. 


-♦o^ 


16mo.     Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 

"The  story  professes  to  descube  real  characters,  and  often  to  quote 
their  very  language.  The  narration  surely  bears  the  stamp  of  reality. 
A  stirring,  well-told  narrative  of  incidents  of  pioneer  life  in  Maine, 
where  heroic  Christian  settlers  fought  for  their  lives  and  sustenance 
and  homes,  generally  with  pluck  and  bullets,  l)ut  with  Christian  re- 
taliation of  good  for  evil  whenever  opportunity  offered,  —  brave  with- 
out ferocity,  pious  without  bigotry,  —  is  well  worth  reading  by  the 
boys,  and  entertaining  for  all.  The  niore  of  such  incidents  tliat  ire 
treasured  up  from  the  life  of  our  early  settlers  the  better."  —  ><  -S. 
Timt*. 


•*..-!- 


ELIJAH  KELLOGG'S   BOOKS, 


CON- 


III 


ARTHUR    BROW 

THE    YOUNG    CAPTAIN. 


-*o^ 


IGmo.    Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 


It  is  tha 
e  of  New 
■plus  vital- 
'he  recital 
ens  of  the 
IS  that  he 
1  manage- 
5 "  of  pri- 
,s,  wrecks, 

It  has  no 
sed. 


*•  This  narrative  illustrates  the  virtue  of  gratitude,  by  represent- 
ing t]ie  liero,  Arthur  Brown,  liished  to  a  raft,  ix,ri.sliing  with  cold 
and  hunger,  when  lie  is  rescued  by  Capt,  Kliines  of  I-^lin  Isl.ind, 
wlio  had  been  instructcul  wlicn  a  boy  and  afterwards  started  in 
business  by  Artliur's  father.  Tlie  captain  receives  him  with  open 
arms,  freely  l)estowing  botli  time  and  money  ujion  Artiun-,  and 
tlius  repays  an  old  debt.  The  book  is  full  of  exciting  adven- 
tures." —  Indianapolis  News. 


>R    A 


THE  YOUNG  DELIVERERS 

OF    PLEASANT    COVE. 


16mo.    Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 


[n  to  quote 
of  reality, 
in  Maine, 
sustenance 
iristian  re- 
fcrave  wi  th- 
ing by  the 
Is  that  ire 
."  --»  S, 


"  Receives  its  title  from  the  fact  that  its  most  prominent  char- 
ncters,  returning  from  a  voyage  when  they  had  run  the  blockade 
under  Lord  Nelson,  and  })assed  through  a  vari«;ty  of  incidents,  .and 
hearing  the  fate  of  a  colored  cook,  a  sliipmate  of  former  years, 
who  had  suddenly  and  mysteriously  disappeared  one;  night,  set  out 
for  Martinique,  where  they  found  the  man  and  <lelivered  him  from 
Blavery.    The  story  is  full  of  incident,  well  told."  —  Baptist  Union. 


ELIJAH   KELLOGG'S    BOOKS, 


it 


1.^ 


I      -' 


SOWED    BY   THE    WIND; 

OR,  THE  POOR  BOY'S  FORTUNE. 

IGmo.    Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 

« 

.o. 

"  Nod,  an  English  boy,  the  horo,  in  attempting  t«>  look  into  a 
nlrcrs-nest,  is  borne  by  the  breaking  of  a  limb  to  the  water,  and  is 
linally  lodgcnl  in  the  hollow  trunk  of  an  old  Cree,  uprooted  l)y  t!)o 
wind.  From  this  i)lace  he  is  rescued  by  a  i)as.siiig  vessel,  bound 
for  Baltinioro,  which  was  then  '  in  his  Maje-»ty"s  province  of  Mary- 
land,' anil  the  lesson  taught  by  his  perseverance  and  <  onstant 
effort,  till  at  the  end  he  is  left  with  a  snug  little  home  of  his 
own,  —  and  dearly  prized  for  the  severe  struggles  it  cost  him,  — 
is  very  entertainingly  given."  —  Northampton  Journal, 


BROUGHT  TO  THE   FRONT; 


OR,  THE  YOUNG  DEFENDERS. 


-•o*- 


IGmo.    Cloth.    Illustrated.    $1.25. 


-.o.- 


"The  scene  is  laid  among  the  backwoods  of  Pennsylvania,  on 
the  borders  of  a  small  stream,  and  hemmed  in  on  all  sides  by 
mountains  and  forest.  Heavy  burdens  are  laid  upon  the  young 
heroes  of  the  story  —  lighting  the  Indians,  aiding  the  toils  and 
sharing  the  perils  of  their  parents,  always  accomplishing  what 
they  undertook,  and  showing  at  all  times  an  untlinching  courage 
and  endurance.  A  story  of  the  woods  and  Indians  never  fails  to 
have  a  strong  charm  for  young  readers,  and  this  one,  like  all  of  Mr. 
Kellogg's  stories,  will  be  no  exception  to  the  general  rule."  — 
Hartford  Times. 


h 


i3 


.Hi:, 


OLIVER   OPTICAS  BOOK\ 


IHE  ONWARD  AND  UPWARD 

SERIES. 

COMpIete  in  six  volumes.    Illastrated.    In  n«:at  boa 
Per  volume,  ■^  l.«5. 


I-  FIELD  AND  FOREST; 

Or,  The  Fortanes  of  a  Farmer. 

«.  PLANE  AND  PLANK; 

Or,  The  Mishaps  of  a  JHecbaato. 

3.  DESK  AND  DEI3IT; 

Or,  The  Catastrophes  of  a  Clerk. 

*.  CRINGLE  AND  CROSS-TREE; 

Or,  The  Sea  Swashes  of  a  Sailor 

5.  BIVOUAC  AND  BATTLE; 

Or,  The  Struggles  of  a  Soldier 

6.  SEA  AND  SHORE; 

Or,  The  Tramps  of  a  Traveller 


Paul  Farringford,  the  hero  of  these  tales,  is,  like  most  of 
:tiis  author's  heroes,  a  young  man  of  high  spirit,  and  of  liio* 
aims  and  correct  principles,  appearing  in  the  different  vo 
Mmes  as  a  farmer,  a  captain,  a  bookkeeper,  a  soldier,  a  sailor 
and  a  traveller.  In  all  of  them  the  hero  meets  with  ver| 
exciting  adventures,  told  la  the  graphic  style  for  which  tW 
author  is  famous,  —  Native. 


^f, 


OLIVER   OPTICAS  BOOKS. 


.ij  i 


FAMOUS  "BOAT-CLUB"  SEEIES 

Atlbrary  for  ¥ouuk  People.    Six  volumes,  liandsomeljr  lllu«traie<' 

Per  volume,  $l.)d5. 


i       ! 


1.  THE  BOAT  CLUB; 

Or,  The  Bankers  of  Rippleton. 

2.  ALL  ABOARD; 

Or,  Life  on  the  Lake- 

8.  NOW  OR  NEVER; 

Or,  The  Adventures  of  Bobby  Bright 

4.  TRY  AGAIN ; 

Or.  The  Trials  an4  Triumphs  of  Harnr  ^99k 

5.  POOR  AND  PROUD; 

Or,  The  Fortunes  of  Katy  Redbont 

6.  LITTLE  BY  LITTLE; 

Or,  The  Cruise  of  the  Flyaway. 


riiis  is  the  first  series  of  books  written  for  the  young  Iw 
•  Oliver  Optic."  It  laid  the  foundation  for  his  fame  as  the 
tirst  of  authors  in  which  the  young  deliglit,  and  gained  for 
him  the  title  of  the  Prince  of  Story-Tellers.  The  six  bool<9 
are  varied  in  incident  and  plot,  but  all  are  entertaixking  and 
ori0nal. 


L  -i 


9! 


mm 


M:\ 


[ES 


itraie'' 


OLIVER  orric  s  books. 


Ig  Iw 

IS  the 
id  for 
books 
gand 


THE  BOAT-BUILDER  SERIES 

P«r  V«L,  $1.26. 


t.  ALL  ADRIFT; 

Or,  Tb«  Ooldwlnc  OI«b. 

1.  SNUG  HARBOR; 

Or,  The  Ckam  plain  M 

J.  SQUARE  AND  COMPASS; 

Or.  Knilflinir  »he  novae. 

4.  STEM  TO  STERN; 

Or    Balldinr  the 

5.  ALL  TAUT; 

Or,  Rirgrinir  the 

«.  READY  ABOUT; 

Or,  SaIUbc  the 


The  series  includes  in  six  successive  vnlnm^  ♦!.-     w  1 
tica  hints  to  make  the  ownership  of  a  boat  nav      k  irl. 

=sted  at  once  in  "  Dory,"  the  hero  of  "All   AHrif^    '*."""• 
.;.  the  characters  to  b^^etain'ed  [„°  1  ftLeto^nK^-o'   the' 

.n.  "  '."/irX^fr-'^  'veo,  boy  who  make,  hi,  acquaint 


iM 


'r:  I 


OLIVER  OPTICS  liOOKS. 


YACHT  CLUB  SERIES. 

f  vlfoiiA  Willi  the  ever  popular    '  Iluat  t'lulV  l^erins,     C^vrnpiev^* 
bi  Mix  vols.    lUiuo.    lllutitrated.    Per  vol.,  $1.2«j. 


1.  LITTLE  BOBTAIL; 

Or,  The  Wreck  of  tlie  Peaotosoot 

2.  THE  YACHT  CLUB; 

Or,  The  Young  Boat-Boilden 

8^  MONEY-MAKER; 

Or,  The  Victory  of  the  Basilisk. 

i   THE  COMING  WAVE; 

Or,  The  Treasure  of  High  Rock. 

6.  THE  DORCAS  CLUB; 

Or,  Our  Uirls  Afloat 

6.  OCEAN  BORN; 

Or,  The  Cruise  of  the  Clnbs^ 


The  series  has  this  peculiarity,  that  all  of  its  constituent 
rolumes  are  independent  of  one  another,  and  therefore  each 
fttory  is  complete  in  itself.  "Oliver  Optic**  is  perhaps  tlie 
favorite  autlior  of  the  boys  and  girls  of  this  country,  and  he 
seems  destined  to  enjoy  an  endless  popularity.  He  deserves 
his  success,  for  he  makes  verj-  interestini^  stories,  and  incul 
atee  none  but  the  best  sentiments ;  and  the  "  Yacht  Club* 

no  excention  to  tiiis  rule. — New  Haven  Jour,  and  OfMr^en. 


Cnmpntii* 


mdbMiat. 


dem 


asilisk. 


h  Rock. 


uHn^ 


s  constituent 
tierefore  each 
;  perhaps  the 
untry,  and  he 
He  deserves 
es,  and  incul* 
■Yacht  Club" 
and  Oour^ti* . 


